Harry Potter and Pureblooded Truths
by TheQuiveringQuill
Summary: Draco's world falls apart while Harry learns that things are not as he once thought. The two struggle to accept and adapt to one another as year six unfolds. HPDM VeelaDraco MateHarry
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: All recognizable characters, settings, objects, and spells in this story belong to J. K. Rowling. I am making no money off this story, and am doing it solely for fun.

**Warnings:** This story is Slash, featuring HP/DM. This is not a PWP slash story, so, if you're looking for an abundance of explosive sex scenes, you should look elsewhere. I intend to focus more on the romance rather than graphic sex, but have chosen the ratings for some scenes that I plan to develop. If Slash offends you, don't read this.

**Author's Note:** Cannon through Book 5

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**Harry Potter and Pureblooded Truths **

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Chapter 1 

**Acknowledgement and Acceptance**

It was not unusual for the Great Hall to be mostly deserted the morning after the end of the year feast and the awarding of the House Cup, and today was no exception. Having spent the night celebrating in victory, few Gryffindors were present at breakfast, electing to either sleep in or to start packing for their impending departure.

A few of the professors were surprised to see Harry at breakfast, but not because they had been expected him to be sleeping in after a night of celebratory bliss. Rather, they were wondered if Harry went to bed at all during the night or if he had wandered the corridors all night, avoiding sleep, as he had been doing for the past several days.

Eyeing the child with a look of concern on her face, the Gryffindor head of house began, "Albus, couldn't we allow Harry to take some dreamless sleep potion back with him for the summer? The poor thing looks like he hasn't rested well for weeks."

Minerva was well aware of how little sleep Harry had been getting as of late due to her finding him wandering the corridors in a daze on more than one occasion. Not having the heart to chastise the child for his minor transgressions at the time, she would gently guide him back to his dorms while striking up conversations that did not require a verbal response from Harry. Seeing the boy off in the direction of his shared dorm room, she would then find some 'interesting' reading material in the Gryffindor common room and settle into one of the over stuffed chairs in front of the fire place, making future escapes for the evening impossible.

Sitting shoulder to shoulder at the staff table in the Great Hall, her long time mentor turned to face his old friend. "Minerva, as you are well aware, the potion will stem Harry's recent traumas from invading his sleep, but prolonged usage would do our young Harry more harm than good."

Momentarily bowing his head with his eyes closed in deep thought, he continued, "While dreams are on occasion disturbing, in many ways they do serve a purpose. Often times, dreams provide an avenue for a person to sort out their fears, providing them a means of coping while awake."

Albus Dumbledore was riddled with guilt. He knew that Harry was not only suffering from the loss of his godfather; he was also reeling from having learned the prophecy the role he was destined to play. For this very reason, the headmaster had held off telling Harry of his destiny for as long as he could, wanting Harry to have some semblance of a childhood that had all but been cruelly stolen from him some 15 years earlier. Telling Harry the prophecy had been one of the more difficult tasks the elder wizard had performed, in essence stripping an innocent from innocence.

Opening his eyes and straying them over to the boy in question, he began again, "While the potion would in the short term allow Harry to gain some much needed rest, it would do him no good as the dreamless sleep potion would postpone any grieving that he so desperately needs. The potion would enable Harry to keep his emotions bottled up, which would prevent him from a path toward healing. Any shortsighted good intentions in allowing Harry to have more of the potion would only hamper him by prolonging his recovery period."

Knowing that her mentor was right, the woman was still not ready to concede, to idly sit by and do nothing to help. She'd been doing that for the past few weeks and it was tearing her up inside. Her worry for the child was what had driven her to wander the corridors, finding Harry doing much the same. Prodding him back to the tower for him to gain some much needed sleep had given her some personal satisfaction, little as it was.

"How can we in good conscience send the child home to those_ relatives_ of his in his current state?" Pulling her line of vision away from the Gryffindor table, the headmistress looked at her mentor with pleading eyes. "The child is still in a state of shock. Is there nothing we can do for him?"

Reaching over and patting the hand of the matriarch clucking like a concerned mother hen, Albus replied, "Things will work out for our Harry. Help will be available to him this summer; to help him cope, recover, and return to us in better spirits than we send him home with."

Leaning over closely, with his mouth near her ear, the headmaster confided to the woman, "While the laws set forth by the Ministry of Magic prevent us from overtly using magic around muggles, there are other avenues that we may employ in keeping an eye on Harry and ensuring his safety."

The woman did not know what her old friend had in mind, but the shift in his demeanor over the past few weeks had not escaped her notice, most notably after Harry had destroyed his office. Nobody, save those two, knew what had happened in that office for Harry to have lost such control of his magic, but it was easily seen within the two sets of eyes, one green the other blue, that what ever had transpired, both wizards were deeply affected.

Having returned to an upright position, the old wizard continued, "I plan to have a chat with Mrs. Figg and have her send me frequent updates on the boy's condition. Having the reputation of a well meaning but off-kilter busybody in the neighborhood will come in handy and cause no eyebrows to rise in her keeping closer than normal tabs on Harry this summer."

Gazing at Harry, the headmaster continued, "This summer, Harry will learn that hope is never lost. That at times of deepest struggles, the faintest flicker of hope shines brightest to the one in desperate need and all one need do is accept help freely offered."

* * *

The train ride was not something that Harry ever looked forward to in June, but this year he was especially adverse toward the idea of climbing aboard. Physically healed but still emotionally raw after his encounter with Death Eaters at the Ministry of Magic, Harry was returning to number 4 Privet Drive to spend another summer at the Dursley's. The wizarding adults in Harry's life were nearly as miserable as Harry was at the prospect of his having to depart under such circumstances. It had only been a few weeks since Harry had witnessed his godfather's death and he had barely had enough time to physically heal, let alone begin a grieving process. 

The train ride had been uneventful, at least to Harry; he could not remember having arrived at Kings Cross or the drive to his relatives' house. Apparently Harry had gone through all the necessary motions, but he had no recollection of his activities from the time he had left the school through and including his arrival at the Dursley's. Harry _knew_ that those that cared about him saw him arrive safely at the station as he _seemed_ to recall looking at their faces; but could not remember what they had said to him. Thinking back, he could visualize their mouths moving but he could not associate any sounds with the movements of their mouths.

And this did not disturb Harry; he was completely unaffected by this knowledge, or lack thereof. It didn't seem to matter to Harry how it was that he got home at all, or that he was even there. In fact, he was indifferent to anything and everything that had been going around him prior to his leaving Hogwarts for the summer.

Slumped on the edge of his bed in an indifferent state of mind, Harry suddenly straightened his back, stiffening his posture. His surroundings finally filtering into his awareness, Harry tilted his head to one side. It had suddenly dawned on him that he'd been hearing a soft buzzing sound for several days. Decibels softer than the sound a mosquito makes buzzing past your head on a hot summer night, almost as imperceptible as a gnat, but there nevertheless.

Not quite ready to fully leave his stupor of the past few days, Harry didn't bother to locate the source of the sound while it began to fill his thoughts, he just sat there, transfixed, listening. Somehow, Harry _knew_ that the buzz had been a constant companion of his for the past several days. It finally dawned on him that he had been unconsciouslytuning the soft humming out, much like one does the background noise of a clock's constant, soft rhythmic ticking.

Struggling to remain focused in his weakened emotional state, Harry had realized that the buzzing had been a constant, soothing thrumming sound, but for some reason its pitch had recently changed, becoming an annoyance, which is what most likely piqued Harry's attention. Lacking interesting stimuli in his small bedroom, Harry sat quietly, fully intent on listening to this buzzing. Despite his interest, his facial expression remained blank, providing no external evidence that Harry had temporarily come out of his self induced state of emptiness.

Harry had no idea nor cared how long he sat on his bed, listening to the hypnotic cadence of the buzzing. Rather than _feeling_ empty, he felt content for the first time in what felt like ages. He felt no concern when he discovered that the buzzing emanated from within his head and not an identifiable, external source. In fact, he felt at peace, wanting nothing more than to curl up on his bed and relax, which he did.

As Harry lay on his bed, he pulled up the tattered blanket to cover himself as weariness suddenly overtook him. While Harry fell into a relaxed state between sleep and wakefulness, the buzzing morphed into whispered words. Too emotionally and physically drained to decipher the words, Harry fell into slumber.

Harry awoke several hours later feeling rested and at ease. He couldn't recall any dreams, but he woke feeling safe, protected from anything and everything harmful; he was content, nestled in a cocoon of serenity. With his senses slowly coming to the forefront, he felt the warmth of the sun breaking through the small part in the curtains, falling on his face and he smiled. A smile that radiated warmth and love, an expression that had been missing from the child's face for far too long.

Having slept on his side with his knees bent half-way up his torso, he had to struggle a bit to get out of the blanket that was tucked tightly under him. Wriggling around on the bed like a swaddled baby, Harry finally got lose of his cocoon and sat at the edge of his bed, raising his arms overhead in a big body stretch.

He was still scrubbing at the sleep sand in his eyes when he heard the buzzing again. But wait, it wasn't buzzing, there was an occasional word, he thought he heard his name being called. Cocking his head, Harry focused his attention to see if he could make sense of the sounds. _There, there it is again_, his thoughts sprang instantly. Closing his eyes in an attempt to shut out any distractions, he continued to listen. _It's not buzzing at all, they're words_. Harry's mind raced. _They're words_.

"Harry ... Harry, my love," came a soft whisper in Harry's ear.

Harry sat there, waiting for the voice to continue, but when it did not, he thought to prod it along. He asked it the first thing that came to his mind. _Who are you? _

"I am yours and you are mine," came the purred answer. "We are happy to finally be acknowledged and are on our way to being joined."

Even though the voice was barely a whisper, Harry sensed that it was excited, happy that Harry had addressed it. Harry did not share this excitement; in fact, he was confused and a bit dejected at the idea of hearing voices in his head, again.

Having nothing better to do, Harry decided to address the voice again. _What's happening? Who are you and what do you want with me?_

"We are waiting for our joining. Soon, we will be together. Mercury has already made its pass and soon Mars will be at it's apex," came the reply.

The words were confusing to Harry, even more so in his sluggish state of mind. Even at his best he'd never been good with word puzzles, but presented with a riddle, coupled with his inability to properly process the information, Harry began to feel anxious. His heart rate increased and he started taking in shallow breaths in quick succession.

As if his invisible companion could sense Harry's unease, a pair of invisible arms wrapped themselves around his torso before he could work himself into a state of hysteria. The embrace immediately provided Harry with a sense of protection, a place to feel safe and secure. Its calming properties were as potent and instantaneous as downing one of Madam Pomfrey's potions that lined the school's infirmary shelves, as he was wont to do on numerous occasions.

Harry's body relaxed in the embrace, losing much of it's rigidity, his pulse slowed and his stilted breathing eased. Nuzzled in the warm embrace, Harry felt himself being rocked back and forth, much like a mother would do a child to sooth away irrational fears. While rocked in slow methodical movements, Harry faintly heard a melody being hummed. He was not familiar with the melody, and it mattered not because it was having its intended effect; his very fiber was being soothed by the tune. It was not a feeling that could be verbalized to another; to Harry it just felt _right_. The melody was neither long nor complicated; Harry could make out three distinct stanzas that kept repeating. The third round, Harry closed his eyes, enjoying a state of complete relaxation.

Aware that his companion no longer felt threatened, the whispers began sending words of encouragement. "Fear not little one. We are not here to harm you, for we are a part of you yet to be. The time is near."

The cryptic message did not alarm Harry in his state of complete relaxation. Bathed in a feeling of calm, Harry would not have flinched if his purple faced uncle had barged in the door spouting demands. An almost hypnotic calm that is achieved through meditative techniques, a feat that Harry would not be able to consciously duplicate. While in this state of meditative peace, Harry heard his gentle companion whispering to him again.

"Harry, my love," the soft whispers continued, "it is time to start taking care of yourself, time to get up and greet the day. First, a shower, and then some food to replenish this body of yours," came the gentle nudging.

Without thinking of what he was doing, Harry rose from his bed and padded down the hallway towards the bathroom to take the first shower he'd had in days. The unusually fastidious Petunia Dursley would have turned her nose up upon seeing her nephew in such a state, but fortune smiled upon Harry that afternoon, as the house was empty of other occupants. His uncle had left for the office hours earlier, his cousin was out with his friends and his aunt was out , shopping for the night's dinner ingredients.

Were it not for the empty household, Harry likely would not have been able to bathe in the afternoon. Standing under the spray of warm water cascading over his body, Harry momentarily fell back into the self inflicted state of mental emptiness. He was nudged back into awareness when he _felt_ his arms being guided to pick up the bar of soap that sat in the corner of the stall. Lacking any desire to disrupt this flow of movement, he reached over, picked the soap up, and vigorously rubbed his hands on it, creating a lather, all the while being guided by the pair of invisible arms. The arms were a good match to his; originating from above his shoulders, they met elbow to elbow and wrist to wrist, with Harry's smaller hands being cradled inside the larger ones. The larger hands gently guided Harry's now soapy ones about his torso, rubbing himself clean.

Now clean, Harry reached over and turned the water taps off, signaling the completion of his shower. All four arms then reached out to remove a towel from the towel bar and then began to gingerly pat himself dry. All excess water removed from his wafer-thin body, Harry wrapped the towel about his waist and padded back to his room, dirty clothes in tow.

Dressed, his hair reasonably dry but definitely not tamed, Harry started to reach for the brush on his dresser when he noticed a small, cracked, hand mirror. The sight of the mirror on his dresser brought a sharp pain to Harry's chest. Having yet to grasp his brush, Harry had stopped his arm in mid-reach, clenching his fist into a ball as his throat constricted, keeping at bay a stifled sob. Regaining a bit of composure, he unclenched his fist, reached out and picked up the small mirror and cradled it against his chest. Closing his eyes in an attempt to keep tears at bay, Harry sat on the edge of the bed, his newfound tranquility crumbling away in the face of his emotions.

Neither knowing nor caring how long he had sat on the edge of his bed, Harry opened his eyes and stared at the little hand mirror, the one Sirius had given him. Since he had returned to Number 4 Privet Drive, Harry had stared at the mirror, hour after hour, secluded in his room. He'd hoped that he would see Sirius' face staring back at him, desperately wishing that he had found a way back from the veil that he had vanished behind and he wanted to be there for Sirius if that happened.

Not allowing Harry the time for him to fully fall into another slump, the gentle voice began to coax him out of his self imposed prison. Never wavering, its gentle nudges slowly and methodically chipped away at the apathetic facade that Harry tried to hide behind. Inhuman patience was at work as the encouraging whispers were never discouraged or dissuaded from their task, bringing Harry back to the land of the living.

After a few short hours, the gentle nudges finally had an effect, bringing Harry back to a state of awareness.

"Harry... " came the soothing whispers again, "it's time for you to put the mirror away."

Still staring blankly at the mirror in his hands, Harry was wrestling internally if he should follow the suggestion of the whispers but, if he did, that would mean that he was giving up hope on his godfather returning to him, wouldn't it? If he put the mirror away, he would have to acknowledge that Sirius was gone. And he just wasn't ready to relinquish the tiny shred of hope he held onto, to see Sirius again.

A lone tear trailed down Harry's cheek, while he continued to grasp the small mirror, fearing to shift his eyes from it.

As if knowing Harry's internal struggles, the soft whispering began again, "Harry, it's alright to put the mirror down. Sirius would want you to."

There was a slight pause, allowing Harry's muddled brain to process the soothing words already spoken, then the soft voice continued, "He would want you to remember him as a vibrant man. He loved you Harry, he would not want you to be consumed by grief and sadness."

After several hours of being coaxed by the gentle whispers, Harry finally relented; he put the mirror down and curled up on his bed. He was so tired, so very tired, yet rest hadn't been forth coming these past several weeks. Harry's very soul ached from grief and it was finally ready to tentatively shift the dark cloud aside that kept the sunlight at bay.

"Harry, love ..." the whisper cooed in his head, but this time Harry not only heard the whispers he _felt_ his body wrapped in the same gentle warmth that had succeeded in melting his troubled soul.

Laying there on his bed, he knew it was not possible, but he again _felt,_ the invisible arms of the whisperer wrapping themselves around Harry in a warm embrace.

_Oh, this feels so good, so warm, so comfortable_ he thought. _I wish I could stay here forever_

It was as if the invisible arms enveloping Harry were laced with a magical healing spell. All the anxiety and guilt that had riddled Harry for the past several weeks evaporated, and then, Harry fell asleep, a restful sleep that had evaded Harry for so long. Harry's long road to recovery had finally begun.

* * *

'_CRACK!'_ came the sound from the entrance. The sound announced that one of the owner's had returned. In an instant, a house elf appeared in the foyer to attend to his master's needs and to dutifully accept their outer wear. 

Without a word, the witch unbuttoned the top buttons to her wrap and started to peel out of the summer weight garment. Without looking where she was discarding her cloak, she released it as soon as she pulled it off her shoulders. The cloak fell into the waiting arms of the house elf as flawlessly as if the witch and the elf had been engaged in an intricately balanced dance.

Narcissa closed her eyes for a second, made a soft audible sigh before she began, "Notify Betsy to prepare my bath. I need to remove the stench of the afternoon from me before I'm infected."

"Betsy will be notified right away ma' am. Will mistress be wanting anything else from Dublin?" came the question from the house elf.

She looked down at him thinking to herself before she answered, "Yes, see to it that I am not disturbed for the remainder of the afternoon."

The elf bowed to his mistress and with a quiet _pop _he was gone, taking her garment with him and notified Betsy that her mistress needed her attention.

Taking the split stairway in the foyer to the right, Narcissa headed towards her wing of the manor. Upon entering her domain, and catching whiff of the lavender scented bath salts that permeated her bed chamber from the already drawn bath, she felt some of the tension she'd had all day start to lift from her body.

She entered her closet before kicking off her shoes. The plush rug felt soft through her stocking feet and she started to relax a bit more. Being home and returning to her ordered world was always comforting to Narcissa.

After removing her light blue jacket and skirt, she covered herself with a robe before she walked over to her vanity to remove her jewelry. Sitting at her vanity, she paused to study herself in the mirror before she picked up the silver hair brush. The weariness she saw written on her face would be soothed away soon enough with the aid of her bath. She methodically brushed and pinned her hair up before entering and sliding into the warm relaxing waters prepared especially for her.

Having just endured an entire afternoon with a group of harpies, Narcissa was not about to let the memory of them or the afternoon spill over into her evening. Attending yet another yawn rendering afternoon with a group of politically ignorant wives always brought Narcissa to the edge of her calm. She had performed her duties flawlessly at the luncheon, keeping her mask of indifference firmly in place.

At a young age Narcissa was taught that it was inexcusable for a pure blooded witch to be ignorant regarding political activities. This included all aspects of the political arena, from knowledge about all the candidates' public positions to their private weaknesses that could put their political career in jeopardy. So, background information was a must, including all gossip followed through on and catalogued in the event a favor for a cherished cause was garnered.

Narcissa and Lucius shared a passion for political wrangling, yet he preferred to do his from behind the scenes. Donating sums of money to control those in power as well as bedding a candidate's wife was his modus operandi. Actions performed in the bedroom paid off as well as direct financial support, as a satisfied politician's wife could coerce her husband in ways that money could not.

Abraxas had taught Lucius that lust was an important tool that could be used to manipulate others. So he took his son to brothels at an early age to ensure that he was well groomed for performance. He also taught his son that if one could secure their desired results by enjoying themselves in the process, all the better, but to never forget that business transactions were not to be confused with his duties at home.

After ten minutes in the bath, stretched out on the water filled lounge that hovered just below the surface water of the over sized tub, Narcissa could feel tension dissolving away from her body. Relaxation was not confined to her limbs and torso. Even her facial muscles relaxed as she continued to lay in the hot water, soaking.

With the passage of time, she started to feel rejuvenated. The tension and disgust in dealing with women who collectively possessed the intelligence of a garden gnome had vanished from her and she was ready to get out. Rising out of the water, reaching for the towel hanging on the warming bar, Narcissa gently dried herself before donning her robe.

The last of the tension in her body evaporated when she stepped onto her balcony. The view from her bedroom balcony was one of her favorites in the manor. It overlooked a rose garden in the foreground with the expanse giving way to an array of wildflowers of various shades of yellows, pinks and purples.

The ambience of the garden always released Narcissa from emotional discomfort. She would often times occupy her time on the balcony while doing pleasantries. She would sit at the small round table composing letters of invitations or read from one of her books from her personal library. Narcissa felt that the time she spent on her balcony was a sacred time of healing. Time that should never be rushed as in her opinion it was the harried that made mistakes.

Sipping on a glass of chilled persimmon juice that she found on the small table, she sat down on one of the comfortable chintz chairs that was upholstered in a fabric that complimented the colors that dominated her garden that day.

_This has been the best part of the day_, thought Narcissa as she rotated her neck a bit, loosening herself up more. Taking another sip of her drink she acknowledged, _Betsy always knows just what I need_.

Living the life of a pure blood was not an easy one, so it was important that you were properly taken care of in your own home. Life for the aristocratic pure bloods was often times perilous, those of lesser blood lines were often times ruled by petty jealousies, making them potentially dangerous but not necessarily worthy adversaries, like an annoying stinging insect. And being put on daily alert could wear a person out, especially if they were not comforted and protected in their own home.

Since the time that Narcissa was three years old, Betsy had been the elf tending to her personal needs. When her parents presented her the opportunity to take Betsy with her to Malfoy Manor after her marriage, she didn't hesitate and immediately accepted.

Betsy had been with Narcissa for decades. As a child and through some difficult teenage years, Betsy has been by her side. She had even protected her from her one sister who had inherited traits of the Black madness. In all their years together, Betsy never betrayed Narcissa; this earned her trust and loyalty beyond what Narcissa offered even to many witches within her social circle.

Having such a bond herself, Narcissa spent months tirelessly searching for the perfect house elf that would serve her son. She was determined that Draco would have an elf he could always rely on, whatever the circumstances.

A knowledgeable witch or wizard knew that personal elves possessed traits that differed from those of a house elf. Personal elves had to possess characteristics of independence that would supersede servitude when warranted. They needed to be self aware enough that they didn't blindly follow orders from another wizard who might cause harm to their ward. And because of this, great care had to be exercised when a witch or wizard bonded with a personal elf, as their life could one day depend on the strength of their bond.

Companionship is an advantage in pairing a personal elf with a wizard or witch but more important is their dedication to the protection of their ward. Additional qualities such as their being trustworthy and loyal were traits Narcissa also insisted on. Narcissa wanted assurances that her son's personal elf would be comfortable enough as well as emotionally strong enough to assume the role of surrogate parent should she or Lucius be unavailable.

And she found one, by the name of Brownie. Since the time that Draco was six months old, Brownie has been his personal house elf. Draco and Brownie had become inseparable, much like how Narcissa was with Betsy as a child. Brownie tends to Draco's needs and knows how to soothe his moods just as Betsy does with Narcissa.

Feeling refreshed and relaxed from doing nothing more than sipping her drink, relaxing in her chair watching the rays of the sun highlight certain areas of her flower garden, Narcissa then heard a knock at her door. Having given orders to not be disturbed, she knew that no elf would venture to disobey orders unless there was good reason.

Expecting less than pleasant news, Narcissa straightened her posture and beckoned, "Enter."

The door slowly opened, revealing a small female elf. She promptly bowed, her nose nearly touching the floor, "Begging your pardon Misses, but Master Draco has been feeling poorly today. And I is thinking you should know."

Giving the elf her full attention, Narcissa did not rise from her chair but she did nod her head slightly in silent acknowledgment to the elf that subservient behavior was waved at this time, an honor only granted to personal elves on occasion. "What can you tell me about his condition?"

"The young master is in no pain that I is able to determine but he sleeps more than usual and has no desire to get out of bed," came the carefully worded answer from Brownie. She was determined that her young charge's mother be made aware of his condition without jeopardizing his need for privacy.

Understanding the personal elf's intricate dance, Narcissa allowed a small smile to form on her face, gave a slight nod of her head to the elf and responded, "I shall dress and come have a look at my son, Brownie. You have performed admirably and I acknowledge your loyalty to him."

The elf's eyes widened as much as Narcissa had ever witnessed. It was obvious that Brownie felt pleased with having been praised and was reassured that she had broken no ethical codes of honored privacy.

She bowed again then quietly '_popped'_ away, reappearing near the bed of her young charge to await the mistress of the house.

Having dressed, Narcissa walked down the corridor towards her son's room. It was unusual for his door to be closed during the day, but in honor of his privacy, something she personally prized, she knocked and waited for his beckoning call that bade her permission to enter. Hearing nothing, she knocked again. After what she determined was a reasonable amount of time, she opened the door to the room, uninvited.

Upon peering in the room, she was startled enough to not move for a few moments. She saw her son sprawled out on the bed with the linens strewn half on the floor in disarray. Pausing to make sure her emotions were under control, she walked to his bed and placed a hand on his forehead, checking for a fever. Feeling none, she tried to rouse him.

"Draco. It is unfitting for a man of your age to be laying about the bed all day. Unless you can provide evidence of an illness, I must insist that you get yourself out of the bed so that Brownie can bring clean linens."

Opening his eyes and having no desire to counter his mother's demands, Draco, got out of bed and headed towards the loo. "I'm sorry mother, in the future I will pay more attention to the time of day."

The voiced disinterest with immediate compliance was out of character for her son, putting her at a temporary loss as to how to react. _Well, he's at least out of bed and making himself presentable before Lucius gets home_, was the thought that trailed through her mind.

Leaving his room, she called out to her son, "Your father should be home within the hour, make sure that you are presentable and on time for dinner."

With that last statement, Draco groaned to himself as it meant that he wouldn't be able to crawl back in bed, which is what he wanted to do. Accepting his resolve, he then began to shower and dress for dinner.

* * *

The whispers from the unidentified source had had a calming and nurturing effect on Harry, and he had started healing. The soft whispers were soothing Harry often enough that he was wholly accepting of their caresses, both physically and mentally. 

After three weeks at the Dursley's, Harry was beginning to cope with his loss. He was still completing his daily tasks in what could be described as mechanical emptiness but he was finally starting to rest better. Finally getting reasonable amounts of sleep, Harry's emotional stability was gaining in strides.

No longer feeling an overwhelming need to hide himself in his bedroom, Harry started to leave his room; he even started to take notice of his appearance. Looking in the bathroom mirror above the sink, Harry's face puckered up in disgust at what looked back at him. His face was pale and his cheeks were hollow, only to be overshadowed by his sunken eyes.

He was shocked at how dreadful he looked, and even more worried that he looked this bad after he was starting to feel better. Harry was getting better but he was still in need of the encouragement offered by the invisible aide.

Gradually, and without notice, the soothing whispers changed from cooing and nightly embraces to encouraging Harry in waking activities.

"Harry, love, you need to eat. It's been a full day since your last meal and your body is in need of nourishment."

Having gotten used to hearing this soft voice, Harry was not alarmed to hear it coaxing him during waking hours. In fact, Harry had grown dependent upon the whispers soothing away his daily discomforts. They were an elixir his weary soul desperately needed. The whispers provided loving ministrations much like those from a mother comforting her distraught child.

The whispers of soothing comfort slowly became suggestive commands Harry had no need or desire to ignore.

"Harry, it's time to go downstairs and get something to eat. The others are not up yet, so let's go," came the gentle urgings.

No longer putting up any resistance to the whispers, Harry left the confines of his room behind heading down the stairs for the kitchen. Once he crossed the threshold to the room, a plate of eggs, sausage and toast appeared on the table.

"You need some proper nutrition in your system, Harry. Please sit down and eat before the food gets cold," came the whispers Harry had grown used to hearing.

Thoughts drifting in and out of Harry's mind didn't stay long enough for him to concentrate on the fact that food magically appearing on a muggle table was not common place. Without conscience thought or hesitation, Harry sat down and ate the entire meal that had been prepared for him.

All the while the cooing continued in his ears, "That's right Harry, eat it all up. Together we will cope with your loss. We will allow it to take residence in a part of your mind but it is not to consume you any longer. Grief has a place in every soul but it should never be allowed to consume the soul."

"With time, the difficult phase of grief will yield itself to a more manageable hurt. And eventually, you will be able to dredge up memories of Sirius that are joyous and not feel guilty or overwhelmed by them as they honor his memory, not disgrace it."

With the aid of his invisible companion, Harry was completing his daily tasks and tending to his personal needs better. He was slowly getting better but was far from being emotionally stable. He would have a few good days and then slip back into his self induced state of deprivation and the day would slip by with little recognition or acknowledgement. Encouraging hugs would linger and come more frequently during these times, gently nudging Harry back towards the road of recovery.

It was during one of Harry's set backs that a tawny brown owl arrived and started pecking at his bedroom window. It must have been pecking for a while because when Harry let it in, it nipped his finger in indignation, having been ignored for too long.

The owl landed on Harry's bedpost sticking his leg out to be relieved of his parcel. Having sat there with his leg out for what the owl felt was far too long, he flapped his wings and hooted to re-announce his presence. Harry cocked his head and looked at the owl as if he hadn't noticed him sitting on his bedpost prior to that instant. Moving his hands toward the owl, Harry slowly removed an envelope that boasted the school's seal.

The owl clicked his beak at Hedwig in her cage, as if asking her if he would get a treat and a rest after his long flight. Looking a bit bedraggled and neglected herself, Hedwig pulled her head out from underneath her left wing, looked at the intruder, looked at her owner in a pregnant pause, and then tucked her head back under her wing to continue her nap.

Having been insulted and ignored by both occupants in the room, the owl flapped his wings and left a pellet as his way of exclaiming his disapproval for such shoddy treatment.

Barely holding the envelope in his hands, it slipped out of his grasp and fell on the floor, where it lay for hours, unacknowledged. Later that day Harry noticed the envelope on the floor, retrieved it and placed it on his dresser, unopened.

* * *

Narsissa cracked the door to her son's room open and looked in on him with concern written on her face, a look that she rarely allowed to surface and certainly never in public. She had never been a weak, whimpering, witch and she was not about to start. Not when the sleeping child needed her help. 

Since Draco's arrival home, he had shown little of himself around the house. If Narcissa went looking for him, she invariably found him in his bedroom, asleep or staring at the ceiling as if his mind was not present. She was used to incessant, conniving and even bordering on whiny demands, but not the quiet child that preferred to lie about all day.

She had been growing concerned at her son's physical decline since Brownie brought it to her attention, concerned enough that she had fire called her friend a few days earlier, his godfather, Severus Snape.

Their conversation had provided her no source of comfort.

"_You're absolutely certain that you noticed nothing out of the ordinary in Draco's behavior while he was still at Hogwarts?" came the calm steady question, displaying no inflections in the tone of delivery. The only thing that gave way regarding the level of concern for her son was a brief flicker that passed through her eyes; her mask of practiced indifference was close to cracking. A look that would have gone unnoticed by most except for the ever vigilant potion's master. _

_Aware what this call cost the woman in personal comfort and compromise, the man took a deep breath, allowing himself a bit of extra time to carefully phrase his response. She was a long time friend, the mother of his godson, a proud Dark Arts witch that rarely showed any weakness, and here she was asking questions about her son, out of fear and worry._

"_I assure you Narcissa, there was no undue activity at the school before the children were excused for the summer." Putting the book down on his lap, giving the head in the fireplace his full attention, he continued, "If it would make you feel better, I could stop by tomorrow and run a few diagnostics on him to check for any Dark Arts curses that your family healer might have missed."_

_This last offer cracked the woman's mask of indifference as relief flooded her face for the briefest moment before her mask was restored._

"_I would appreciate that greatly, Severus. How does tomorrow 1 o'clock sound? I'll have a luncheon prepared for us after your examination of Draco," she replied, effectively ending the conversation._

Calm had reclaimed the woman by the close of their conversation. Severus had assured her that nothing untoward had happened to her son while he was at Hogwarts. Having not vacated the chair she had had her floo call from, she picked up her cup and took a sip of tea, while she briefly replayed the conversation in her head, making sure that she had missed no nuances Severus might have let slip.

Convinced that he was genuine in his offer of assistance, she inwardly relaxed. _An afternoon luncheon would work out perfectly as Lucius will be at the Ministry for the day._

Not to be one to keep things from her husband, she was a believer that one need not stir the pot until the brew was ready. And she wasn't sure that Draco was the victim of a curse, only that he was out of sorts. Their marriage was based on respect for one another, respect in the knowledge that they possessed personal inner strength to deal with daily disturbances that need not be a joint effort.

This respect and admiration of one another's strengths also brought about an understanding between the spouses that they never crossed each others respective roles without an invitation from the other. To cross this unspoken divide would insult the other for their lack of leadership qualities and problem solving skills, something neither of them dared cross for fear of very real repercussions for doing so. And she wasn't going to bring Draco's behavior to her husband's attention unless it was necessary.

"One o'clock it is," had been his short reply.

And with that the green head in Snape's fireplace had disappeared.

As a child of and the wife of a prominent pure blood line, she was passionate in furthering the lineage of this union. If she ever found out that her son had been cursed, she would move mountains to restore his health before plotting revenge. She never took an active role in gossip as petty jealously was beneath the proud woman, but revenge was not.

She considered herself a practical mother, one who could and would cold bloodedly exact her due. As a Dark Arts witch, protection of her child would rival and shame anything a Death Eater would do for the dark lord. She'd already had the family practitioner out to the house and while competent with usual childhood illnesses, Narcissa was not going to leave anything to chance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: ** See Chapter 01

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* * *

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**Harry Potter and Pure Blooded Truths**

Chapter 2

**Lost and Found **

Magical artifacts were of no use to the woman; she had been born a squib and had lived amongst muggles for the past fifteen years. Lacking inherent magic within herself did not prevent her from staying in contact with the magical world, however, nor from providing what little services she could in the fight against Voldemort, the man responsible for exterminating her entire family

On a rare outing in Diagon Alley, Arabella had been browsing the shopping district when she had spotted a sign overhead, _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_. Recognizing the name for her involvement with the Order of the Phoenix, the woman had elected to enter the store and browse around as she still had a few free hours before she needed to return home.

Upon entering the store, the petite woman had noticed a colorful display board, located on the wall opposite the store front. Without a compelling reason for having entered the store, Arabella had gravitated towards the colorful display. Standing in front of the board, the woman had a fleeting thought that the shop keep had probably imbibed the board with an attraction charm, for she felt that she had been inexplicably drawn to the board.

Arabella remained rooted to the spot for several minutes as the board was ever changing, flashing through several renditions of advertisements, each one showcasing a newly released product, complete with graphic pictures, depicting some rather elaborate scenes and suggested comical uses.

_**Cantankerous Cravings**_ — Is Larry losing weight more quickly than you would like? Have no fear, Cantankerous Cravings are here! One application of this flavorless, colorless, odorless, nigh undetectable powder can and will make his table manners disappear so fast, you'd think they had apparated away.

_**Gaseous Gertrude**_ — Beans, beans, the magical fruit, The more he eats the more you'll hoot, The more you hoot the better you'll feel, So come buy some at a real good deal! _...sound effects, an added bonus but not guaranteed_.

_**Acne Afire**_ — There's nothing hot about a man using Acne Afire, although he could compete with the Chain of Fire. Volcanoes of pus on every face, guaranteed. One application will assure you that the suitor will no longer lust after your rival's face oozing pus.

_**Booger Bubbles**_ — A babysitter's delight. Little ones will entertain themselves for hours. Make sure the little buggers are indoors as the bubble has been found to make the smaller tykes airborne. _Warning_, secure nearby puffskeins as exploded remains have been reported resulting from their gorging on overly abundant boogers.

Thoroughly amused by the claims on the display board, the woman then began to roam the aisles, browsing and reading more product labels. Rounding her third aisle, Arabella had spied the prominent poster that hung behind the check-out counter. With every purchase, one could obtain a complimentary charm for hiding the true nature of the product to the recipient.

One of the proprietors had noticed that the elderly woman, whom he'd mentally tagged as an in-and-outer, a person who unknowingly enters the shop and would then leave immediately after realizing the types of products for sale, paid her little attention until he heard her constant chuckles in and around various aisles.

Always happy to meet and greet any admirers, Fred ventured to introduce himself to one of their newest fans.

She had been enjoying herself, reading some of the product labels on the shelves, when she had felt a soft tap on her shoulder. She had been so absorbed in what she was reading that the tap had startled her. So much so that she had accidentally let go of the package, and it had started to free fall towards the floor. The boy with fast hands and red hair had lunged, catching the bottle in mid-air, and had then grinned at her after he had resumed his full height.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," had come the quick response from the youth. For the briefest moment, the youth did project a look of concern before it was immediately replaced with a genuine smile.

He then provided her with the reason he had approached her, "I heard you laughing and I was curious what you found so amusing."

Noticing the boy had red hair and an abundance of freckles, Arabella knew this child must be one of Arthur and Molly's children. "Oh, I'm sorry, I hadn't realized that I was being so loud," came her immediate response, finger tips reaching as if to touch her lips in embarrassment, but not succeeding in camouflaging the smile that lingered on her face.

"It's just that reading these products brought back memories of my childhood," she explained looking up at the tall red head, as her smile broadened to one of a mischievous grin. A type of grin the red headed boy was all too familiar with.

Sensing that there were stories he just had to hear, the boy reached out, took her hand in his, and started directing the two of them towards the rear of the store where his brother George was restocking inventory.

Looking down at his brother who was in a crouched position he began, "George, think you can finish that later?"

George looked up from what he was doing to better hear his brother.

"I was thinking that it would be nice to take a break and enjoy a spot of tea with one of our customers."

His brother Fred was not known for taking breaks during shop hours but when George had spotted a familiar grin on his brother's face, one that all too often preceded mischief, his curiosity was peeked.

Knowing his twin was up to something, and without a moment's hesitation, George had decided that he was not going to miss out on what his brother was up to. Only a killing curse could keep him away from learning what put that grin on his brother's face.

Pushing himself up from the floor, he brushed his palms together, then rubbed them on his trousers, ridding them of the grit that stuck to his palms from the flooring.

Responding to his brother with an equally mischievous grin, "Right you are, brother of mine. A spot of tea sounds like a right lovely idea."

Heading towards the front door George continued, "I'll join you after I adjust the door chime to ring in the back room."

"Wouldn't do respectable businessmen any good to go around ignoring customers, now would it?" he said, shooting back a glance at the two still standing in aisle three.

"Right you are, oh wise elder brother of mine," came the cheerful retort.

As the afternoon wore on, the twins had discovered that she was a neighbor to their benefactor, one Harry Potter. And this is when their friendship began in earnest. The three had decided to collectively work together, to make life easier for Harry. With these three pooling their resources and accessibility, life at the Dursley's should be less stressful for their mutual friend, and potentially profitable for them. All in all, a beautiful business relationship blossomed that afternoon.

True to their pledge of wanting to take care of Harry, the Weasley twins had petitioned the Ministry for permission to obtain two transporter boxes under the guise that they were to be used for business purposes and for the protection of the wizarding community. The proposal stated that one box would be stationed at the store while the other box would be at the home of a silent business partner, the person who would aid them in perfecting various products.

The application pointed out that the boxes would eliminate the need for messenger owls, a possible hazard that would be avoided whenever possible, as an owl could become incapacitated and drop the experimental product in an unsuspecting populated area. While their finished products were _relatively_ harmless, the same could not be said for some of their products before they were perfected. What the twins had 'neglected' to inform the Ministry was that the products they would be sending to their mentor were actually already perfected, their marketing had just been _delayed_, for reasons they felt best to not reveal.

Usually, transporter boxes came in pairs, with additional Ministry approval, additional boxes could be added to the circuit; but the boys were only interested in two boxes, one for themselves and one for their 'mentor'. The boxes did exactly what the name implied, they transported items from one box to the other.

The twins supplied their test partner with products that would not cause too much alarm in the muggle realm, there were no morsels that turned a person's hair into a style that would rival Medusa's or flashed alternating colors. Through a collaborative effort, Arabella's ideas and the boys' abilities, they had even created some charms that were used exclusively on muggle products. One such product was the identification spray can, dubbed _**Anonymously Signed**_. After the perpetrator vandalized public property with one of these cans of spray paint, a signature of the artist would appear at the bottom of the graffiti so that the creator could be properly thanked by the local law enforcement group. Arabella especially liked these types of products as they would eventually impart the troublemakers into having to clean up their ways or pay a higher penalty each time they were caught.

Due to an unforeseen business rush, delivery of the latest product ready for muggle testing had been delayed, putting a time constraint on the woman. Being reduced to using time release potions, she had to act swiftly once she readied the potion for application, as time became a precious commodity to her and her deeds. Having barely enough time to quickly scan the accompanying directions, Arabella grabbed the bottle of potion and headed out the door, calling for Mr. Tibbles, her cat.

He readily came to her bidding, appearing from the bushes adjacent to her backdoor, when he distinctly heard the word, _tuna_. Being a cat, Mr. Tibbles had no need to understand everything his owner said, however, after years of living with the woman, he had picked up on a few key words and their meanings to him. Promising him a full can of tuna for his role in today's espionage, Arabella generously rubbed the potion into his fur coat. Having heard the magical words, _tuna_, and _rub Dudley_, Mr. Tibbles knew what he needed to do to get his reward.

In her rush to get in a position to watch where Dudley would head, she had inadvertently encountered him in the Dursley driveway, where they exchanged strained pleasantries. While the woman had the boy's attention, her cat had rubbed himself on the boy's legs, as he had been taught and encouraged to do, recently. Initially the cat had hissed at his owner at her urgings but with repeated cans of tuna, he gave up his personal dislike for the boy, as he liked tuna more than he disliked the big lump.

With Mr. Tibbles having successfully rubbed himself on Dudley, the potion had been administered and activated. And it was now time to retreat and ready an alibi should one be necessary.

Having been rushed, the woman hadn't had the time to read the instructions to their fullest before she hurried out the house. Reaching for her reading glasses on the kitchen counter, she picked up the bottle and read the label. She first read the name along with dubious testimonial claims, "_**Fat Buster**__" instantly wear smaller clothing. Rub a generous amount of Fat Buster on your clothing and you'll be rewarded with them shrinking before your very eyes. _

A glint temporarily draped over her eyes as she had a pretty strong inkling what the product did. She felt pretty confident that the product was not a diet lotion as it was poorly suggesting to the naive reader, rather something quite different.

_These boys are geniuses. Horatio would have enjoyed them_. _But then, putting the three of them together_, she never finished her thought as her kettle had started whistling for her attention.

Sitting at the table with her steaming cup, she picked up the letter that had accompanied the latest test potion, rereading it as she only had time to skim it before she rushed out to meet Dudley.

_Dear Mrs. Figg,_

_We were pleased to learn of our latest successful product, and thoroughly enjoyed the photos you sent as proof. We're glad that you agree with us that It's always best to have documentation when promoting the effectiveness of a new product. Photos in hand we see that this was a complete success and need not be further tested._

_We have already started production and are actively adding it to our growing product line of "**Git Getters**". We plan to label that particular product, "**Spiders Surprise**". The bottle will be adorned with a replica of one of the photos you sent._

_Alas, If the friend of Harry's cousin had contacted us we could have informed him that we had developed an antidote that would have rid his head full of spiders after only 3 applications, (the eggs are rather resistant, hence the need for multiple applications) rather than having to shave his head._

_We won't be using the photos of him at the muggle barber shop on the product, however, we do have them pinned up in our shop for display, on our product testing board. So, the next time you visit our shop, make sure you take notice of the bulletin board._

_Anybody who'd be dumb enough to pick up a hat from off the street and put it on their head deserves what he gets._

Arabella had put potion in a hat and left it where Dudley and his friends hung out and then waited on the park bench with a camera in her purse while she fed the pigeons stale bread. Arabella was secretly pleased when she saw that it was Bruce Snodgrass who had picked the hat up and was animatedly acting with it, pretending he was a Jamaican drug lord as it was a crocheted hat with attached dread locks. She had never liked that boy, he was nearly as large as Dudley and she'd seen him bully children smaller then himself for years.

_Again we want to take this opportunity to express our deepest gratitude in your sacrificing your precious time in helping us with our product testing. Our reputation for selling products as labeled is one we take great pride in._

_Now, onto current business, today's product is one that needs to be applied to a piece of the victim's clothing. We suggest you rub a generous amount on Mr. Tibbles and have him aid you in rubbing himself on a target. We assure you that no harm will come to Mr. Tibbles as this potion only affects woven fabrics and not fur._

_Once the potion is applied to the victim's pants, please notify us by tapping on the enclosed wrist watch 3 times. The watch is charmed to whistle in our shop and announce that the product has been activated. We request that this be done as we are still working out on the strength of the potion. The timing of activation varies with fiber content and this is something we're trying to counter._

_The effect that we're striving for is for the victim's clothing to unravel at a rate slow enough that the thought of coming into contact with the person applying the potion would not even be considered as being responsible for the loss of their clothing. Once we are notified that the potion has been activated, we will apparate to the local park and observe the outcome for ourselves._

_Should this prove to be as successful as our other products, we will gladly send you copies of the pictures._

_Product testing is extremely important and we want to thank you again for the sacrifice you're willing to make in the name of duty, for the protection of Harry and for the "**Git Getters**" product line._

_Attached please find our latest product ready for testing._

_Fred and George_

* * *

Having just finished his heaping sized portion of the pot roast dinner, Vernon pushed his chair back from the table and absently rubbed his protruding belly. "Petunia, marvelous meal," he barked out in a voice that was meant to be comforting and complimentary, but his tone never really had that quality.

Having lived with the man for some years, Petunia was not put off by his gruff voice or mannerisms at the dinner table, impulsively pursed her lips together and meekly thanked him.

"Yes indeed. Food tastes so much better without that _boy's_ presence polluting the table, always acting like he's deserving," Vernon finished with an indignant huff.

"I don't know what happened at that school of his this year, but as far as I'm concerned, it can happen again so that he'll come home and shut himself up in his room next summer," he said, all the while continuing to rub his stomach in a satisfied circular motion.

Believing her husband's comments needed no response, Petunia stood and started removing the empty dinner plates from the table. There were no leftovers to put away, nor did she concern herself with wondering what Harry was eating these days. _If he doesn't feel like coming down to the dinner table when the rest of the family eats, then he can attend to his own needs_, was her self proclaimed indignant attitude. She didn't mind cooking for her own family, but he wasn't really hers; he was nothing more than a part time freeloader. One who should be grateful for any and all hand outs that came his way.

Vernon and his overly large son Dudley made no motion to leave the kitchen table. They remained in their seats, knowing that dessert would appear on clean plates in front of them as soon as Petunia cleared the dirty dishes. Fastidiously clean and bound by a self imposed routine, Petunia never dished out dessert until the table was cleared of all sullied utensils.

A large piece of coconut cream pie appeared in front of each of the two men who nary grunted an approval before they shoved forkful after forkful into their greedy mouths. Appetite sated, Vernon pushed his plate away from himself before rising from the table. He left the kitchen and entered the den, both hands scratching the sides of his bulging girth.

Before plopping down in his favorite chair, he reached for the remote and turned the telly on. It was still set at the station Petunia had last watched her afternoon soap opera on, and a news program appeared. Before Vernon could change the channel to an evening game show, the newscaster gave an account of an occurrence of a tragic house fire in a London suburb. The house had exploded under mysterious circumstances and a car was found lodged on the roof of the second story flat. Investigators were still on the scene and had yet to determine a sequence of events that could have yielded the outcome for the bizarre tragedy.

While his father's attention was occupied by the telly, Dudley slipped out the front door to meet up with his gang.

Before he was able to cross the driveway, he was met by a voice.

"Hello, Dudley, and how are you this evening?"

Irritated at having been interrupted in his quest to meet up with his gang, Dudley turned around to be met by a deep, searching stare. "Oh, good evening Mrs. Figg." He paused before he continued with what he considered to be a polite conversation, "Just out for a bit of fresh air." He didn't care for this busybody and she was even more bothersome this summer than she had ever been before.

Undeterred by the obvious brush off, Mrs. Figg elected to ignore the slight and continued rambling. "Oh, I'm out to get a bit of air myself. It's a lovely evening for a stroll, isn't it?"

Wanting to ignore the old woman, Dudley started to take a step away when his footing was blocked by Mr. Tibbles, the woman's cat. Mrs. Figg's eyes followed the direction the boy's took and noticed her cat had interrupted his quick departure.

Smiling at her pet, she spoke in a slightly higher and excited voice, "Oh, Mr. Tibbles, there you are. I was wondering where you had run off to."

The two of them continued to watch the antics of the cat, and Dudley grimaced when he saw that the cat had started to affectionately rub itself on his leg. If the old woman wasn't standing right there in front of him, he would have kicked the annoying pest out of the way. _Disgusting filthy flea bag's rubbing on me_, he thought.

"Errr... your cat sure seems to have gotten, ummm... big, recently."

Biting her tongue, the woman barely reigned in the temptation to chastise Dudley for the absurdity of his referring to another as plump, the woman sweetly smiled and replied, "Well, I have been generously rewarding him lately, so I guess he has put on a bit of weight."

Bending down in an effort to lessen the height difference between herself and her pet, Arabella started a new conversation, in the voice she used when addressing Mr. Tibbles, "I see you've taken a liking to young Mr. Dursley. I'm sooooo glad. That's quite a change from before, eh?" Her last comment had an odd inflection and finished with her standing erect and looking at Dudley with a crooked smile on her face.

Dudley remembered how her cat used to hiss and spit at him whenever they were near one another.

"Ahh, yea, nice." And before she could start up any more chatter keeping him there, Dudley clipped her a later wave and said his good byes.

When he left, Arabella just smiled and tapped her wristwatch, noting the time.

* * *

It was rather late in the evening for the Minister of Magic to still be in his office, but there he was, along with a group of seven other individuals.

"And you're sure that you oblivated all the muggles milling about the area?" Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister asked the head auror in charge. "Can't have any muggles reporting suspicious sightings of us, now, can we?"

"Yes, sir," came the response from the shaggy brunet wearing a green headband, "The Oblivation Squad was called as soon as the area was secured and assessed free of danger."

Looking the man closest to the bookcase over closely, the Minister asked, "Any idea what happened out there?"

At this the Head of the Auror Department, Gawain Robards spoke up, "As I have explained to your deputy, the alarms in the office went off notifying us that a large discharge of magical energy was emanating from a muggle suburb of London. Once we got to the scene, there was very little left for us to tend to as the skirmish was already over."

He continued his account, nodding toward another man in the room, "Kelton Abbernorth found an unidentified wizard among the rubble who was able to utter a few words before he disappeared."

Rufus, turned from Robards and looked at the group of aurors gathered in his office and asked, "Which one of you is Abbernorth."

"That would be me, sir," came the soft, hesitant voice from the man standing third from the left in the row in front of the Minister.

"New recruit?" came the question from Rufus, having left the position of Head Auror the year prior, he knew most in the department.

"Yes sir, finished training just last month," came the voice ringing with pride.

"Welcome aboard. Always good to have a fresh set of eyes around. Now, what can you tell me about this mystery man you happened across," came the probing question from Minister Scrimgeour.

Being a new recruit and fresh out of the training program, Kelton was a bit nervous to be confronted by the Minister of Magic on his second ever assignment.

He closed his eyes and gathered up his nerve and then began his recitation, "As Head Auror Robards said, an alarm sounded in the office alerting us to a magical discharge. Inger Hutchinson summoned the map that displayed the location of the discharge while the rest of us gathered up our tools of the trade before departure."

Starting to feel comfortable with his reporting, he continued in a more steady voice, "Once we apparated to the site, we saw that the home was on fire."

"Continue, Mr. Abbernorth, you're doing just fine," came the encouraging words from the Minister.

"Once we got to the scene," Kelton paused, closed his eyes as if visualizing the crime scene replay in his head, "Leverett immediately pointed to a muggle transportation contraption on the roof of the flat and as our squad leader he called out for us to assume the _Alpha Omega_ formation."

Continuing as if he was reciting from his text books, "As standard protocol for the _Alpha Omega,_ search and rescuedictates that we spread out from one another in a specific pattern to look for clues and survivors."

Having gotten a cadence and a level of comfort in his report giving, Kelton continued, "I left the street and headed to the western side of the dwelling. Rounding a large oak tree, I noticed a large black mass on the ground. I cautiously walked over to the object and noticed that the mass was a person. I ran a quick vital signs check as we've been taught and found that the person had a faint heart beat. I bent down and asked him if he knew what had happened and that assistance would arrive shortly."

"The wizard looked me in the eye, started moaning and babbling. The only coherent words I could make out was that he kept repeating something about a jewel, he kept repeating that there was a double jewel. And then the man shimmered and disappeared."

"What do you mean he disappeared, didn't the team post anti-apparation wards upon arrival?" came the immediate irritated response from the Minister.

"Yes sir," came the booming voice from another man in the room, "anti-apparation wards were firmly in place within seconds of our arrival."

After a brief pause, Auror Kelton continued with his eye witness account, "I mean exactly what I said sir. He shimmered and faded away. It was no apparation that I'm familiar with," worry creeping into his response.

Looking directly into Scrimgeour's eyes, Kelton said, "I made my report to my department head, and he's cleared me on it, sir."

Nodding towards Head Auror Robards, Kelton added, "He suggested that I submit the memory into the department pensive so that it could be examined by others for accuracy."

"Excellent idea, quite commendable Mr. Robards," came the booming tones of praise from Scrimgeour.

Looking at Robards, "And have you had time to review the memory to make further observations that might have been missed?" came the question from Minister Scrimgeour.

"Yes Minister, the memory has been deposited and reviewed by myself but no more than what Mr. Abernorth has accounted to you has been uncovered," came his professional response, followed by a piercing, prolonged stare, locking eyes with the Minister.

"Very well then, you are dismissed. I will be looking for your finalized report in the morning," came the final dismissal of the gathering from the Minister.

Having noticed the look on his friend's face, Rufus knew they needed to have a private conversation.

"Gawain, if you would remain, I have a few questions for you," he said before all the men were able to file out of the doorway and to their own offices.

While the men were filing out of the office, Head Auror, Gawain Robards barked a few orders to them while he remained in the office. Waiting for the office to clear, Rufus Scrimgeour stood looking out the window with his hands clasped behind his back. He wasn't really looking outside as the Ministry was located underground, rather he was looking at an enchanted window. A magically created window that provided a view outside the Ministry, mimicking even the time of day.

When Rufus heard his friend clear his throat, he knew it was to signal that they were alone. He turned and saw his old friend looking at him. A look that spoke volumes to Rufus.

Motioning to the chair in front of the desk he said, "Please have a seat." And while Gawain took the seat indicated, Rufus limped over to his behind the large mahogany desk.

With both men seated, Rufus waved his wand and a bottle of fire whiskey appeared along with two thick, crystal cut glasses. Not knowing the reason, but knowing his friend well enough to know the look he'd given him earlier, he knew his friend was bearing bad news, and as such, he could use a drink to soften the blow.

Pouring both glasses by hand, Rufus started out, "Thought we could both use a drink after the long night."

Before Rufus was elected to the office of Minister of Magic, the two veteran aurors shared many a night over a glass of fire whiskey. After having their wounds patched up, the two would find their way back to the office, write up their reports and discuss what they could have done differently for a better, less bloody outcome. Now, they shared a glass in the Minister's office, and the atmosphere was stiff, compared to the easy camaraderie they had shared in the past.

"What can you tell me about this mystery wizard," Rufus asked after he had a sip from his glass.

In no hurry to answer, enjoying the sensation of a fine blend on his tongue, the auror began, "Truth of the matter is, he really is a mystery. I ran a composite on him already and our records came back blank. I even checked foreign records, there's no record of his existence anywhere."

This news did not have a calming effect on the Minister. Taking in another mouthful and staring at his glass still held at eye level, Rufus further probed, "Any idea what the man was after?"

"At this time, we know nothing more than what you were told earlier. That he made some incoherent statement about searching for a couple of jewels."

Taking another drink, finishing the glasses' contents, Gawain continued, "Not sure if the worst of it is what he's after, but also what he is."

Not understanding his friend, Rufus knew not to interrupt, instead poured both of them another drink, allowing time for his friend to gather his thoughts.

"I have reason to believe that he was a hunter," eventually came the softer than normal tones from the man.

"Are you sure?" came the immediate response from Rufus who was so startled with this information he sloshed some of the liquid out of the glass from his abrupt movement at the news.

"I'm as sure as I can be. I recognized the insignia on the man's wrist in the pensieve before it and he vanished. I made no mention of this to Kelton as he's a new recruit. Nor have I allowed anybody else to review the pensieve."

"I have not been able to determine the source of the magical discharge, either. If it was from this jewel the hunter was searching for, we must find it before He-Should-Not-Be-Named does. While the destruction was contained to the one flat, the discharge would have done a lot more damage to the surrounding structures if it had not been expertly channeled."

"The discharge was recorded to have been that strong?" came the question from Rufus.

Reaching his hand out, placing the empty glass on the desk he said, "It was strong enough that if this weapon were to fall into the wrong hands, the wizarding community at large would be in serious jeopardy."

The auror stood at the end of this statement and said to the man behind the desk, "I need to get back to my men and make sure all the information is properly entered before their shift ends." Nodding his head towards the man behind the desk, "If you're satisfied with our findings for now, I'll take my leave."

Pressing his glass against his lips after draining the last of it's contents, the Minister deep in thought, waved the man off absently. _A wizard pursued by a hunter never spells good news. And a hunter that was wounded is even more troubling as that means the wielder is quite strong,_were some of the thoughts racing around his head._What could be so sought after that the hidden society of the hunters ventured out in the open?_

_This wizard on the lose is not somebody I want to embrace as a tourist, but then, not somebody I can risk snubbing either. No good could come from making an enemy of somebody strong enough to escape a hunter. _

_The Wizengamot is going to have a lot of questions for me in the morning_he thought as he rose to leave for the evening to go home and sleep. He needed to make sure he got plenty of rest before the battery of questions began.

* * *

An owl flew in through the kitchen window and landed on the back of a wooden chair. He then promptly held his leg out for Hermione to relieve him of the package he bore. Already at the table, shoving the last bite of bagel into her mouth, Hermione untied the parcel from the owl's leg and dropped a few knuts in the pouch as payment for the paper and held out a strip of bacon she'd saved for his arrival. Cooing in delight with the treat, the owl quickly finished his snack, flapped his large wings and left out the window, the same way he had arrived, silently.

Never wanting to be cut off from the world Hermione had adopted and adapted herself to at the age of eleven, she had made arrangements to receive the _Daily Prophet_ while at her parents home during the summer months. With an impending war and the subsequent rise of Voldemort, Hermione was determined to stay abreast and current regarding events in the wizarding world. To be uninformed could be detrimental, especially to a muggle born, whom the Death Eaters relished using in their campaigns of torture.

The paper was not, in her opinion, written with the intentions of intelligently informing the wizarding community. Rather, it appeared to cater to a few political allies that had successfully garnered themselves in a position of power. Stories were often times slanted to promote one belief over another, rather than to impartially report facts. However, if one critically read between the lines of the noteworthy articles, one could surmise the real goings on while essentially being cocooned from the wizarding world.

Quickly scanning the headlines, it looked like things were relatively quiet in the wizarding world so she relaxed a bit and spread the paper out on the table and started devouring it with the same attention that she had just paid her breakfast. She noticed an article on the increase of wizards applying to become aurors and the Ministry's promotion of Joseph Berm to superintendent of the Parcel Delivery Department, both articles she skipped. And then, on page seven she noticed a story heading that caught her attention.

_Mysterious Wizard Found and Lost _

_by Amanda Farkhorn_

_On the evening of July 23__rd__ a magical disturbance was recorded in the Aurors Department at the Ministry of Magic. Upon further investigation, the discharge was found to have originated from a muggle suburb of London. _

_Aurors were immediately dispatched, arriving on a scene of complete chaos. The auror in charge of the investigation, noticed that not only was the muggle dwelling ablaze, but that a muggle transportation box was firmly lodged on the roof, too. _

_Following protocol, the team then spread out and searched for survivors. An unknown wizard was found lying on the ground near a tree but when questioned, he disappeared. Muggle rescue workers showed up at the scene, putting an end to the aurors gathering additional information or the identification of the wizard. _

_According to Inger Hutchinson, an auror on the scene, "It was like the muggles were crawling out of the woodwork, some came in moving boxes with lights and sirens while others were crowding in the streets. We had to leave the scene for fear of being seen." _

_Questioning the Department Head of the aurors, Gawain Robards, had nothing to add to the story about the mysterious disappearing wizard._

Hermione read the article through a couple of times before she was satisfied. Placing the paper flat, she thought about the news she'd heard on the telly several nights ago. That a mysterious explosion occurred in a suburb a few townships over and that a car was lodged in the roof of the home.

Crime investigators were baffled how an explosion could send a car onto the roof of a home with no damage to the surrounding structures. The only structure damaged was the abandoned home where the explosion happened.

The owner of the car was found unconscious in a park two miles from the scene. And when questioned, he had no idea how he'd gotten there or how he was separated from his car. The last thing he remembered was leaving the pub at around 1:30am, after claiming to having had only 3 drafts. Toxicology reports had determined that the man was not intoxicated nor could they find any evidence of drugs in his system to explain his memory loss. As a result, the crime was still open as cause or culprit had not been found.

Hermione thought the story a bit strange at the time but hadn't paid it much attention, dismissing it as a gang related incident as they were known to hang out at the pub the man visited. That part of town was known by locals as being a bit seedy, with gang fights often times breaking out over control issues.

But now, now that she read about the same story, told radically different, but the same story in the _Daily Prophet_, she grew concerned.

_This is not some gang turf war_as the news report on the telly had eluded to_This is much more serious._Starting to get a bit alarmed where her thoughts were headed, her breathing hitched. _This means that there was a wizarding battle in the muggle part of London, and the car's owner was obviously oblivated. At one time, I too would have thought the man had imbibed too much, but now, I know there are other factors that can explain the unexplainable. Things that are kept from muggles. _

_I need to owl Ron and see if his father has mentioned anything. He works at the Ministry and he might have heard some office gossip about this attack. _

She promptly left the table, went to her room where she had parchment and quill on her desk and began a letter to Ron.

* * *

As was customary, Lucius was sitting at the table in the sunroom enjoying a cup of tea when the paper arrived. He always rose before the rest of the household and cherished these moments of solitude before he began his hectic days of business dealings and persuasions.

Unfurling the paper, he scanned the headlines to see if there was an article of particular interest that he would read before he began reading the typical articles the paper printed. Seeing nothing of note or importance in the morning's headlines, he took a bite of his poppy seed muffin and started reading the lead stories.

He was on his 3rd cup of tea and had just finished reading the article about the mysterious wizard when Narcissa graced the room with her presence.

"Lucius," Narcissa's voice came from the entrance of the sunroom.

Having been married to the woman for nearly twenty years, he had not tired of admiring her beauty or the way she carried herself. Words uttered from her mouth were not necessary for anyone to notice her in a room full of people. She was the embodiment of elegance and grace with little to no effort.

Lucius stared at her while she had her back to him, pouring herself a cup of tea. He truly admired her carriage, even the way she coiled her blonde hair around her white neck in the mornings before she dressed for the day was not lost to him. He couldn't imagine being married to any other witch. Regardless of any business transaction or alliances deemed necessary, she is the only one he has ever truly cared for.

"Lucius dear, I would like to plan a confirmation party for Draco, and in order to do so, I need to know your schedule for the next few weeks," Narcissa began as she slipped into a small chair opposite her husband.

Reaching down, Lucius retrieved his napkin and dabbed the corner of his mouth before speaking, "Now Cissy dear, I know you like to play the neglectful father card from time to time, but I happen to be aware that Draco just had his 16th birthday and not his 17th."

Placing the linen napkin over his empty breakfast plate, he looked contemplatively at his wife. _What in Merlin's name is she planning? _

She provided an answer to his unspoken question, "Oh, this will not be a party in honor of his attaining his magical inheritance, this will be a party to acknowledge him as your legal heir."

Seeing that her husband folded the paper back to it's original form, leaving it unattended on the table, she knew that he was honoring her with his full attention, so she continued "It would not be a formal affair, a small dinner party with about 275 of our closest friends would suffice."

Reaching over and placing a croissant on her breakfast plate, she continued, "I want Draco to be formally acknowledged as your legal heir. Next year, after his 17th birthday, he will come into his magical inheritance and we can throw him a gala affair at that time, one befitting a Malfoy."

She absentmindedly tore a corner of her croissant off before she continued, "But for this," here she placed a slight pause, as if she was gathering the proper words to clearly express herself, "I'm thinking that a small intimate gathering would be adequate. One that will acquaint Draco with some of the intricate duties he will be obligated to fulfill in the coming years."

Still looking at his wife, Lucius' mind began whirling all the scenarios, _Legal heir. Well, yes this is done, it's not common practice but with a war pending, it would be prudent and would also give Draco a heads up who some of my more loyal business constituents are. _

_This way, should something unforeseen happen within the next year, Malfoy enterprises should not falter as Draco will have been formally acknowledged by myself and my business partners. _

_Yes, I agree dear wife, this would be very prudent. _

Seeing how she so artfully maneuvered him to agree to a party under the pretense of a formal announcement of their son's right of passage, when in reality it was designed to introduce Draco to the world of political maneuverings and favors, he bowed his head in a formal gesture of approval. She was preening their son admirably and he was favorably impressed. Lucius did not try to hide his knowing smile from his wife, his unspoken _touché._

_Not only is she beautiful, she is a true Slytherin_, he thought. There were times he didn't mind being manipulated for a worthy cause.

He rose from the table, paper firmly in hand, leaned over and gave her a light kiss on the cheek and responded, "A party would be fine. Give me a moment and I'll retrieve my calendar from the office."

She had inclined her head to accept the kiss and quietly replied with the smallest hint of a smile broaching her face, "I was hoping you would have no objections."

Gathering up his calendar from his desk, he first examined today's schedule and saw that he had a two hour block in the afternoon that was free of appointments. He wrote a quick note and sent it off by owl before he made his way back to the sunroom. The letter was addressed to one of his more reliable contacts at the Ministry, requesting an audience with him for this afternoon.

_I should know more about this mystery wizard by the end of the day_, Lucius thought smugly as he entered the sunroom, schedule calendar in hand.

* * *

With the students gone for the summer, meals at Hogwarts were less noisy and more relaxed. With the reduction of noise, and interruptions at a minimum, Albus took his morning paper in the Great Hall rather than his office during the summer months. He had been scanning through the paper when a slight smile erupted on his face. With only Minerva and Filius at the table, wholly absorbed in an ongoing conversation, Dumbledore's facial expression went unnoticed.

He had come across the article on page seven, _Mysterious Wizard Found and Lost_.

After reading the article, he inwardly sighed_They've finally arrived_. With this realization, an unseen calm cascaded over his weary body, his recent state of constant tension had evaporated. Without being directly told, he knew that this article was the response he had been waiting for. That in fact, this meant that his new Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers had arrived and that they had agreed to his terms.

Feeling more relaxed than he had at the start of breakfast, Albus folded the paper and set it aside. With his attention no longer being given to the paper, he joined in on the long running debate between his colleagues.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 01

**Harry Potter and Pure Blooded Truths**

Chapter 3

**Hope Restored **

* * *

The first summer that Harry had been given Dudley's spare bedroom, vacating the cupboard, came as quite the surprise to Harry when he had returned home to Privet Drive after his first year at Hogwarts. He had been especially pleased that the room had had an eastern exposure. Years of the windowless, dark cupboard gave rise to Harry's love of watching the sunrise from his, albeit nice but temporary bedroom window.

A few weeks after Harry had returned to Privet Drive for the summer, he woke early, much to his chagrin. Sunlight was filtering in through the window, bathing the room in the early morning light. Harry grimaced as the rays had finally reached the hour that they were now directed onto his face. The novelty of his having a window in a proper bedroom had worn off, as the early announced start to the day served as an annoyance to the raven haired boy these days.

In an act that '_some'_ would classify as foolishly Gryffindor-ish, Harry had abruptly opened his eyes and groaned as the bright light attacked his dilated pupils. In an involuntary reaction, he slammed his eye lids shut, only to view a multitude of white spots dancing before his eyes. He didn't even want to think about how stupid he'd been; _knowing_ that the sun's rays were beating down on him because of the patch of warmth on his body, he had foolishly opened his eyes without precaution.

Resistant to moving too much, he draped his forearm across the bridge of his nose, shielding his eyes from the ever persistent sunlight that threatened another attack. He was now wishing that he hadn't awakened and could just roll over and not start the day yet. After procrastinating several minutes, he finally came to a decision, he yawned, and then rolled on his side, using the backside of his body to block the offending light source and cracked his eyes open.

Feeling in no particular mood to 'greet' the day, he lay there on his side for several more minutes. It was then that he heard something tapping at the window. Suffering the effects of still being groggy, he slowly rolled off the bed, and made his way to the window. While this particular window of the house got more action than others, it would still stick quite often, especially after a rain.

Beating on the middle section of the window with the palm of his hand to un-stick the window, he heard his uncle's booming voice coming from his bedroom down the hall.

"What's that infernal racket in there, boy?" began the rant.

Not keen on listening to his uncle at this time, Harry tried his best to ignore the loud voice. Fully awake now, Harry adjusted his stance to gain better leverage to open up the perpetually warped window more quietly.

Successfully opening the window after a few more carefully and quietly applied thrusts, Hedwig flew in and hooted at her owner in an excited manner, proclaiming, in owl speak, "Lookie, lookie, I have a message for you."

With Hedwig safely in the room, Harry closed the window, only to realize that his uncle was still spouting off insults directed at him from down the hallway.

"And if I find that you've damaged anything in there, boy, don't think that I won't make you pay. I don't care what those freak friends of yours say, you need to learn to be responsible for your actions and I'll not be inconvenienced by your actions any more than I already have been."

Harry had heard similar such speeches from his uncle that he could nearly predict his next sentence, or the content well enough as it rarely wavered from his being a no good freak, that his parents were irresponsible to have gotten themselves killed off leaving a child to be raised by others, and so forth and so on.

Knowing that his uncle was on a roll, Harry, in typical teenaged fashion tuned him out.

Sitting on the edge of his bed quietly, Harry waited to see if his uncle would roll over and go back to sleep or barge into his room with a list of chores to be completed by the end of the day. After a few tense minutes of waiting for the storm to descend upon him, Harry let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. He was in luck, all was quiet in the small framed house, his uncle had opted to roll over and go back to sleep. This of course did not mean that Harry had slipped by the ire of his uncle; the temporary stay of execution would just happen later, as his uncle rarely let an opportunity pass by when he could heap misery on his nephew.

Several minutes had lapsed while Harry had been waiting for the outcome, during which time he had forgotten all about Hedwig, that was, until he felt searing pain emanating from his finger. Feeling offended that her owner had neglected to acknowledge her for bringing him his mail, Hedwig had firmly nipped the nearest finger available. Hedwig was, for the most part even tempered but, she felt that her owner needed reminding that he had ignored her for far too long, making her feel insulted.

"Owww, girl," came the garbled complaint from the boy, the offended appendage quickly finding a home in his mouth. This left Harry with the use of only one hand, making it awkward for him to untie the letter from her outstretched leg. Having finished with his fumbling, Harry left the letter on his bed, walked over to his dresser and grabbed an owl treat, a peace offering. Never one to turn down a treat, she greedily and gingerly snatched it from his palm. Harry then offered her another treat, along with a running dialogue of heart felt affection and a sincere apology.

Feeling less annoyed with her owner, Hedwig contentedly cooed and gave him a head butt, letting him know how she felt. Smiling, Harry stroked her head again, and quietly spoke to her, telling her how smart and beautiful she was. After having been pacified by the affectionate attentions of her owner, Hedwig eagerly climbed into her cage when the door was opened, and settled in for a much needed nap.

Walking back over to his bed he picked up the mail that Hedwig had just brought him. In no real hurry, Harry unceremoniously opened the creamy envelope and pulled out the contents, four pages in all. The first page was a generic form type letter addressed to him. Stating that taking into consideration his O.W.L. scores, he was qualified to take the following courses...

Looking up from the parchment, Harry creased his brow in confusion, _O.W.L. scores? What O.W.L. scores? There must be a mistake, I never received my scores_were the first string of thoughts that raced through his head. Then, he remembered that an owl had arrived several days earlier, a generic school owl that he hadn't paid much attention to.

Walking back over to his dresser he spotted an official looking envelope with the school's seal on it that had not been opened. Tearing open the envelope, he quickly scanned the letter and saw that his scores were indeed listed. Torn between reading old news and new, he opted to read the newest letter that Hedwig had brought, putting the contents of the first letter aside.

The first page listed the classes he was eligible to sign up for; Potions, Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Advanced Transfiguration, Advanced Charms, Divination, and Care of Magical Creatures. The Second page was a listing of the summer assignments the professors assigned and expected to have completed by the first day of term. And the third page was a comprehensive listing of school supplies, including clothing requirements for entering 6th year students and, the 4th page was a hand written note, specifically addressed to him.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_  
As your head of house, I'm writing to let you know that a very special course is being taught this coming school year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is a unique opportunity for Hogwarts that Professors Catori and Hehewuti have agreed to teach __The Art of Magical Meditation Techniques__to advanced 6__th__ and 7__th__ year students. Only those students with their Head of House's expressed permission will be allowed to sign up for this class._

_Should you desire to take this class please owl me so that your name can be added to the list. At this time, there is no textbook requirement or summer work assignment._

_  
Yours sincerely, _

_Professor McGonagall, _

_Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts_

Staring at the parchment in mild disinterest, Harry noticed another person's handwriting at the bottom of the page:

_**I took the liberty of signing you up for this class. It may come in handy**_

_**Albus Dumbledore **_**  
**  
After blankly staring at Dumbledore's missive at the bottom of the letter for several minutes, Harry started to smile. It was the first smile, or real reaction he'd had to anything since he had returned to Privet Drive for the summer. It was as if the short passage from the headmaster was charmed, as it's simple message woke Harry up from his self induced cave of emptiness. Harry finally had some hope, a reason to go on.

The fact that Harry hadn't qualified for Advanced Potions was lost to him at this time. His brain was still processing the personal message from Professor Dumbledore.

Lowering his hands to rest on his knees, he absently clutched the parchment in white knuckled fists. With his head slightly up turned, he began to stare at the far wall in the small room. _Dumbledore wants me to take the class. He's already signed me up._

Losing interest in the boring white wall, Harry's eyes drifted towards his lap, where he noticed the crumpled mess he had been strangling. In shocked reaction, he splayed his fingers apart, and the letter fell to the floor. Retrieving the note, Harry began smoothing the parchment out the best he could, rubbing and stretching it against his thigh. Once it was reasonably smooth, he brought the note closer to his face and reread it.

Magical Meditation Techniques, were the three words in the letter Harry focused on. As if a switch had been flipped in Harry's head, the realization struck him as to why Dumbledore might have signed him up for the course, _maybe __these__ teachers can teach me Occlumency._ Then Harry's euphoric feelings welled up inside him as his thoughts raced on,_ It's got to be easier to learn from somebody who doesn't hate me. _His thoughts continued to race ahead,_Yea, with somebody actually willing to help me, I'll be sure to learn it this time. _

Although Harry would rather not admit it to the Headmaster and never to Professor Snape, he had been feeling discomforted by the fact that he hadn't worked harder at his Occlumency lessons the previous year. While still recuperating in the hospital wing at school, Harry had conveniently convinced himself that everything had been Snape's fault. That had Snape not been so hateful, he might have learned Occlumency and successfully blocked out the false visions Voldemort planted in his head on the night his godfather died.

But now, the feelings of resentment for Snape's failure in teaching Harry to block his mind eroded, as deep down, Harry knew that he hadn't put forth the effort. And the more he thought about it, the more he could see that it had been his fault.

With little reluctance and a heavy heart, Harry concluded that he was the primary person responsible for his godfather's death. It was clear to him now. He had been so starved for information that he hadn't wanted to block out his only source. At the expense of losing his godfather, Harry now fully understood why Dumbledore had thought it a bad idea to allow the visions to continue.

Harry decided that it was time he grew up and took responsibility for the role he had played in his godfather's death. That placing blame on others, Snape, Dumbledore, Bellatrix and even on Sirius was childish, and that he no longer had the luxury or time to indulge himself in the blame game any longer.

With a deranged maniac out for his blood, it was imperative that he became more observant and not accept everything at face value. He knew that he needed to not only be aware of his surroundings, but to take it a step further, to become more calculating in his actions. In essence, to embrace his Slytherin attributes and not deny them any longer, which would also entail reigning in some of his brash Gryffindor traits.

Clenching his left hand into a fist, a look of determination shuttered behind Harry's eyes,_ I will not give Voldemort an opportunity to set another trap for me or my friends._

Absently rubbing his scar in a nervous gesture, Harry began to set definitive goals for himself. He was determined that the link that he shared with Voldemort would no longer rule his life. That living in fear and self loathing was counterproductive and that it benefited no one other than Voldemort. It was time for Harry to come out of his cave of self depravation, because to be afraid of feeling hurt was being afraid to live and it was time to deny Voldemort his momentary victory.

Harry got up and started pacing back and forth in his small room. His pacing was erratic, he would stop mid-stride, make a declaration to himself and then resume pacing, only to stop and make another declaration when the inspiration hit him.

_I won't live like this any more. _

_I won't let him control me any longer. _

_I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing that he's hurt me._

And then the pacing abruptly stopped altogether as Harry declared his final epiphanies.

_I will accept my destiny._

_It's either me or Voldemort — me or Voldemort — only one of us can live —_

* * *

The _Daily Prophet_ had been prominently running articles about reported sightings of dementors throughout England which was sending waves of panic throughout the wizarding communities. While wizarding children grow up hearing horror stories about dementors, few grown wizards have actually ever seen one, but that had all changed recently. Upon the Minster's desk sat a stack of reported sightings next to his morning cup of tea.

Since mid-June, reported dementor sightings had been filtering into the Ministry, eventually finding their way onto the Minister's desk. Confirmed sightings had been scattered throughout Northumbria, Cornwall, Hampshire, Berkshire, Surrey as well as East Anglia. The enormity of the area had aurors working long hours and had Minister Scrimgeour worried.

Reaching over, picking up his cup, Rufus took a sip of his tea while he continued to stare at an enlarged, colorful map of England hanging on the wall of his office. The map, his constant companion for the past several days, occupied his thoughts even though he had other office duties that were demanding his attention.

His eyes were locked on the map, daring a pattern to reveal itself. The map was highlighted with color coded dots, depicting dates and times of a specific sighting. Waving his wand, the map morphed into a second version, a version that frightened the Minister more. The second version while not as colorful, displayed masses of dots in concentrated areas. Each dot represented an individual dementor sighted.

The two maps, one depicting times and dates of sightings and the other displaying sheer numbers, revealed little to the Minister, other than the fact that something was happening. That something unnatural was drawing them out into the open.

All Ministry employees that had worked on the project had insisted that there was no pattern, that the Minister was looking for something that just didn't exist.

Grimacing at his cup as it's contents had grown cold, Minister Scrimgeour set it down on the corner of his desk. Clasping his hands behind his back, he went back to staring at the map, willing a plausible explanation to materialize.

_What's the pattern? What's calling them? Are these dementors doing He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's bidding or is there something else out there commanding them? _

_There has to be a reason. _

_Dementors don't show up or congregate on a whim. _

_What's the connection? _

_What's the common denominator?_

These same questions plagued Minister Scrimgeour for weeks, being played over and over in his head with nary an answer being provided.

Feeling frustrated for the lack of answers that have plagued him and the whole of the Ministry since the beginning of the sightings, the middle aged wizard decided to go for a walk, to try and clear his head. It was early morning, and with dawn a few hours away, few Ministry employees would be roaming about to interrupt his highly prized nightly stroll of solitude. A slight uneven shuffle could be heard echoing from the empty corridors as the Minister limped. The shuffle, slap noise of his boots were a welcome sound to his ears, and he began to relax by their uninterrupted rhythmic sounds.

Having no need for possessions or status, dementors were unique beings; driven purely by greed is what made them dangerous and impossible to control. While utilized at Azkaban under Ministry rule, dementors could not be considered loyal; tenuously serving only those who could supply them with souls to feed on.

These servants of death were not revered yet feared. A necessary evil the Ministry utilized as both deterrent and punishment for the darkest of crimes committed by witches and wizards.

Being a wizard professed to the Light, Scrimgeour was repulsed that the Ministry embraced creatures of the dark for their unique services. Yet, he had not been able to provide an alternative to their usefulness and effective deterrent as guards of Azkaban prison. Begrudgingly, he could admit that the arrangement was a win-win scenario, but that didn't mean that he had embraced the arrangement. So, like any good politician, he never brought this conundrum to the attention of his constituents, preferring to ignore the ugly step-sister, as his predecessors had.

Left to their own devices, Dementors preferred to live reclusively, however, there were times that they worked collectively. When Ministry aurors were unable to apprehend a criminal, and their potential harm to the community was deemed high, dementors were sent out in packs as a means to restore relative calm to the community. Ironic as it was, the public would tolerate the government's usage of the creatures if they were convinced that the hunt was for the greater good of the community, the removal of a dangerous wizard or witch at large. Such was the highly publicized hunt for Serius Black after his escape from Azkaban.

Dementors hunting, feeding in packs was something the Ministry attained through means of bribery. The more powerful the wizard, the more delectable their soul was to the dementor. And the opportunity to consume a powerful soul was something few dementors could resist, and for such a feast, they could be coaxed to temporarily work collectively.

Since taking office, Scrimgeour had not had the misfortune to order such a hunt, but while an Auror, he had personally witnessed such orders carried out.

It was because of their known solitary nature, that when group sightings of rogue dementors were first reported, the Ministry didn't take action. But when these claims continued, eventually supported by aurors that were dispatched to investigate, Minister Scrimgeour sobered and issued a plea to residents for them to not engage the dementors.

_The Daily Prophet_ sent over a reporter the day before requesting the Minister issue a statement to the community at large.

"_As of this date, we have no explanation why dementors are congregating. It is imperative that citizens witnessing a gathering of dementors contact the Ministry immediately. Do not, I repeat, do not engage them. Aggressive action is not warranted at this time against the rogue dementors as they are not inflicting harm on humans in the areas of sightings, and they peacefully leave when confronted by trained aurors__"_

It was not the most eloquent statement he'd ever made, but it did get the point across. He did not want panic induced citizens to foolishly engage or harass a dementor. In this particular case, they were best left alone, ignored if you will.

It was imperative to Scrimgeour that citizens not engage in a battle with the dementors. He shivered at the thought of untrained witches or wizards confronting them as he has never forgotten his first encounter. An experience best not forgotten nor repeated.

He had just finished his auror training when he was summoned to partner with Bloaty, a large man with a decade of experience in the department. They were dispatched as the dementors had found the escaped convict and were about to approach him. The two aurors were to witness the event as proof that protocol was followed and the escapee permanently restrained.

Apparating into a wooded area, they immediately scattered, one taking cover by a large fallen tree and the other at the base of a large oak tree. It was there, peering over the dead log that Rufus witnessed a pack of Ministry sanctioned dementors hunting, their target sighted. Adrenalin pumping through his veins, the young auror watched, his golden eyes wild with excitement.

The escaped convict was firing hexes at the three dementors nearing him, to no avail. With what appeared to be some difficulty, he produced a patronus, being weak it kept the dementors at bay briefly. It was at that time, when the dementors backed up, giving the patronus passage that Rufus felt the sickening, soul sucking, stomach clenching, all embodied terror overwhelm him.

The dementors had inadvertently entered his safety zone, the distance required to not be overwhelmed by their presence. He immediately fell to the ground clutching at his chest. Filled with so much terror he had forgotten the simplest human function, breathing. Then, as fast as he had fallen to the ground from his horror stricken visions, he was released from their grip.

The dementors were moving towards their prey, the escaped convict. Able to breathe now, Rufus' tensed body relaxed, a bit too much as he felt his crotch grow warm before it felt cold. Bloaty approached his partner just in time to see this, he discretely cast a cleansing charm on the new recruit before he helped him sit up. Uttering no sound, he reached into his pocket, pulled off the wrapper and offered his new partner some chocolate.

Rufus was horribly embarrassed at his lack of professionalism but Bloaty never brought it up, then or later during their seven year partnership. Rufus had learned a lot from Bloaty and still mourned his loss. Thinking about Bloaty brought Rufus back to the present and his continued concern for untrained citizens encountering dementors.

Aurors continued to come back from the field reporting that the dementors were not acting normally, that they appeared disoriented, confused and easily distracted. Reports were also coming in that the dementors as far away as Azkaban also appeared to be reacting to an unknown stimulus. Their feeding patterns had changed; they patrolled prisoner cells more often, stayed near prisoners longer yet still showed signs of agitation, constantly tilting their heads skyward. Behavior seasoned aurors had not seen them display before.

What ever had the dementors stimulated also had them confused. Veteran aurors instinctively felt that the dementors were searching for something that was as yet still transparent to them. While this explanation lacked substance, it was the best guess scenario that was supplied to the Minister.

Having finished his walk through the Ministry corridors, Minister Scrimgeour succeeded in clearing his thoughts but was no closer to any answer regarding the dementor's behavior or a course of action. So, he opted for the 'wait and see' method that would tip the scales for increased Ministry intervention.

* * *

Having lost his own humanity, Voldemort had an affinity with the dementors no other wizard shared. It was through this connection that he had been feeling their restlessness for the past few months. To the unsuspecting public, their unease was manifested by an increase in dementor sightings near populated areas.

A robed figure entered the dark room, barely illuminated by the low level of light filtering into the room from the hearth, glowing with red embers of a nearly spent fire. Striding quickly to the wing-backed chair positioned optimally in front of the fireplace, the man abruptly stopped, stooped to one knee and began, "My Lord, all my attempts to find out what has the dementors agitated have yielded nothing."

Fearing another round of anger channeled through his master's wand, the hooded man closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. After having endured a few tense riddled seconds and suffering no retribution for his failure, the man kept his head bowed yet opened his eyes to see a white, bony hand resting on the arm of the chair, a hand that was not clutching his wand, ready to strike.

"And you're sure that Dumbledore does not know what has caused the dementors unrest?" came the raspy voice from the one sitting in the chair.

"He does not, my Lord. The Ministry has contacted Dumbledore and alerted him that the dementors at Azkaban are excited about something but the reason has eluded them."

"The aurors stationed at Azkaban report that the dementors are feeding more often and patrolling the cells more vigorously, in a most agitated state of unfilled need. The human guards have requested Ministry intervention as the dementors are being too aggressive and they fear that many prisoners will not survive if they do not settle down soon."

While the kneeling wizard felt no real compassion for the Death Eaters held at Azkaban for crimes committed against the wizarding community, he would rather they were treated a bit more humanely; but with some of them near madness before they had even entered Azkaban, other options of housing or rehabilitation of the prisoners would not be possible.

"So like the incompetent Ministry officials, to think they can control creatures of darkness when they do not understand a thing about them," came the spitting hisses from the one in the chair.

"They fear the dementors and try to placate them with small servings, but this will not last as their hunger has awakened with a vengeance."

In a voice not as highly pitched as he had last projected, the small, sitting wizard exclaimed, "It is of little consequence that the Ministry does not understand, because they cannot control them anyway."

Closing his red eyes, tilting his head in a manner that made the kneeling wizard wonder if he was telepathically communicating with the dementors, he then spoke in a quiet, almost revered tone of understanding, "They are feeling the coming of their fabled Returner."

The wizard knew not to question his master for clarification and waited in silence hoping that some would be provided. And after a pregnant pause, his patience was rewarded.

"The dementors have been feeling listless since the celebration of Walpurgis," came the quiet comment.

The pale wizard sighed, tilted his head back and closed his eyes, immersing himself in a meditative trance. _Walpurgis night, a night that typically embraces wild magic, a night that favors dark magic was pierced by an awakening; by a magic that radiated a depth of purity and an innocent yearning. This is what has them confused. But what does this mean? And what is this Returner? After extensive questioning, I have no better grasp on understanding their longing for this Returner than I did before I heard of his existence. The best I have come up with is that this powerful being has been long prophesized and they have been waiting for his coming._

Getting a bit exacerbated with the lack of answers, only being plied with additional questions and uncertainties, the dark wizard audibly exhaled when he finished his train of thoughts. The putrid smell from his master's breath accosted the kneeling wizard's keen sense of smell, yet he moved not an inch. He remained frozen in place, awaiting any instructions or punishments that might still rain upon him.

Vacating the confines of the chair the Dark Lord stood and approached the hearth, stopping a few feet in front of it, he turned and spit out his annoyance, "We must find the magical source that has confused the dementors before the Ministry does. The Ministry cannot be allowed to harness this new source of magical power."

"It is imperative that we locate this being and negotiate a _workable_ relationship with it before the Ministry coerces it to obey their bidding."

And with this last pronouncement he dismissed his servant with explicit instructions that he was to immediately report any additional information Dumbledore might enlighten him with.

* * *

The rain had finally let up, leaving the air heavy with fog and the ground soft. A harsh chilling wind was slashing down the path and the ground beneath Harry's foot made a sucking sound with each step he took. Mud caked shoes made Harry's trek a bit slower than it would have been otherwise but he didn't mind as all his senses were on high alert and he wanted to be slow and methodical in his movements.

The fog was extremely thick, obscuring and filtering his vision, making the bare trees look ominous and threatening. Harry kept darting his head from side to side, straining his eyes to discern the shapes surrounding him. Another burst of icy air hit Harry's face, stinging his lungs as he drew the cold air in.

Not knowing where he was, Harry continued on the path with his shoes getting heavier with each step he took in the wet clay soaked earth. Several times he thought he heard the rustling of a wizard's cloak but every time he whirled around wand ready to confront the person, he saw nothing. Unnerved, he quickened his pace, which tired him at a faster rate because he had no time to physically recover from each leaded step of mud caked shoes.

All that raced through his mind was that he needed to escape. He needed to get away from this place that oozed evil. As if the evil had manifested itself into the fog, Harry felt squeezed and surrounded by it's presence. He needed to escape whomever or whatever was haunting his steps.

In an instant, he burst out of the fog filled forest and stumbled into a clearing. With his vision no longer being shrouded by the fog, Harry noticed that the sky was dark gray, providing him no tangible information regarding the time of day. He noticed a hillside a few hundred yards ahead of him. To better access his surroundings and to get some bearings, Harry began trudging forwards. The desire to reach the rise overrode the exhausted muscles in his legs.

The hillside had been cleared of trees and shrubbery growth, leaving knee length grass in it's wake. Harry made it to the top of the hill and looked around, the poor lighting hampered his long range vision. He noticed several rectangular shaped stones in a small patch nearby, but before he could examine his surroundings further, his vision was assaulted by a flash of light, and then a _crack_ of thunder boomed overhead. This brought Harry's senses back to high alert, and then, in the dimming residual of the burst of light, he saw a shape not far from where he was standing.

Before he had time to panic or react, the sky was briefly illuminated again, and accentuated with another loud _crack _of thunder. In the flash of the light, Harry clearly saw that the shape was a person. In an act of self preservation, Harry threw himself to the ground, and rolled behind one of the rectangular objects, providing himself a protective shield from any incoming hex the person might hurl his way.

Carefully peering out from behind the stone, Harry could make out that the person was wearing bright red wizarding robes. The lack of black robes with a white mask was welcomed to Harry but not altogether reassuring. Without additional information, Harry was not about to stand up and announce his presence. Feeling tenuously safe behind his buffer, Harry kept a vigil eye on the intruder.

Harry could not determine if the person was friend or foe because the hood was pulled down, completely obscuring his face. And this uncertainty added to Harry's building anxiety. Adjusting himself so that he was now crouching on one knee, Harry placed his left hand on the structure to provide better stability for himself while he scanned the horizon to provide him some clues as to where he was and where he could dart to for cover if his current location was compromised.

Being disheartened with his surroundings and the lack of protective cover it could provide him, Harry decided to stay put and monitor the stranger. On adrenalin overdrive, Harry tensed, watching wide eyed as the person raised his arms. Instinctually Harry cast a _Protego_ shield to protect himself from an incoming curse. But rather than the person wielding a wand at Harry, he had moved his arms, towards his hood.

As the fabric cascaded off the unknown wizard's head, landing in folds on his shoulders another _crack_ sounded while lightening lit up the sky. Fearing what he would see but fearing more what he would not see, Harry kept his eyes fixed on the person 30 feet in front of him. Just then another flash of lighting lit up the sky, illuminating the wizard's face in the red robes.

Harry gasped.

_BANG, BANG, BANG_, came the pounding on Harry's door. "Boy, you be quiet in there or you'll regret it," came the angry spittle filled words from his uncle.

Finding himself awake, sprawled on the floor and covered in sweat Harry was gasping for air in quick successions, as if he'd just surfaced from being under water too long.

Scrambling for some semblance of reality, Harry responded to his irate uncle. "I'm sorry sir. Must have had a dream."

Hearing his uncle's heavy breathing outside his door, Harry hastily added, "Just, just a one time occurrence. It won't happen again. I promise."

Still breathing heavy from shock but in quiet somewhat controlled deep drawls now, Harry sat frozen in place and listened. The reassuring words had worked as he listened to the heavy foot steps traveling down the hallway and then a bedroom door closing.

Dropping his chin to his chest, closing his eyes, Harry wondered, _what the heck was that?_ Then he started to reassure himself, _just a bad dream. It had nothing to do with Voldemort. Just a bad dream._ Harry kept repeating this in his mind while his breathing evened out.

After a couple minutes, Harry got up off the floor and walked down the hall to the loo. He placed his arms on opposite sides of the sink to stabilize himself when he noticed that he was shaking. Not knowing why that dream should have distressed him to the extent that it did, Harry was content to remain there until he was more composed. And that's when he felt those reassuring invisible arms embracing him from behind in a full body hug with whispers suddenly sounding in his left ear.

"Harry love, it was just a dream. Nothing to be frightened of, just a dream." And if it was possible, the whispers were growing quieter in their soothing tones, reminding Harry that he was safe and it was just a dream.

Finally feeling awash in comfort, calm restored in Harry, he turned the tap on and washed his sweaty face, then trotted back to his room and to bed.

* * *

Several days had passed with no additional terror stricken nightmares. During this period of relative calm, Harry made great strides in his recovery process. It wasn't as arduous a task with the aid of his whispering companion, always ready at the helm to coax Harry forward.

Looking his class assignments over again along with their summer essay requirements, Harry knew an easy if not so pleasant way to lighten the burden of his new resolve, homework.

Mentally calculating the time it would take to complete each assignment along with some owl exchanges obtaining Hermione's help, Harry began working on his summer lessons in earnest.

_I wonder how long I've been at it this time_, Harry wondered. _Even with Hermione's help, these assignments take a long time._

Harry put his arms over head, making a concerted effort to unkink himself. He stretched his torso, bending it in various directions, straining to stretch his back muscles as much as possible. Unfortunately, it was not working. He was just too stiff and sore. He'd been on the floor hunched over working on a potions assignment, writing an essay about the differences in potion properties when the moly root is used versus the moly foliage. He started this assignment immediately after he'd finished his essay on tyromancy, for Professor Trelawney. Not finding any _real_ information on divination through the use of cheese, Harry made up several unsupported 'facts' of his own which he thought outlandish enough to satisfy the bug-eyed divination professor.

Deciding that these stretching exercises were inadequate for just how stiff he felt, he decided to call it a day and started gathering up his supplies scattered about in front of him. Scrolls, quills and books now in hand, he started to get up, upon standing, Harry felt another part of his body was rather sore from sitting on the wooden floor for as long as he had. Quill and parchment on the floor between his spread legs was not the most comfortable way to write the several feet long essays that he was required to have completed by time the new school year began.

Even though Harry's was the smallest bedroom in the house, it was sparsely decorated with only a twin bed and one chest of drawers. The bed had a thread-bare light blue cotton blanket on it that had seen better days and the chest of drawers was purchased from a junk shop so Harry's clothing wouldn't contaminate Mrs. Dursley's prized antiques. Having never been indulged by the Dursley's, Harry didn't mind the lack of things that one finds in most teenager's rooms, but he would have appreciated a desk and chair so that he could do his summer assignments without hunching over so much.

Another lonely summer at Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Harry sighed as evening _finally_ came and he looked over to the cage that was perched on top of his chest of drawers and started chatting with Hedwig.

"Yes, yes, girl. Ouch... hey, take it easy on my fingers," Harry was calmly talking to Hedwig as she nipped his index finger, letting him know her displeasure as he coaxed the door hinge loose.

Harry sighed. Keeping Hedwig cooped up in a cage tugged at Harry's heartstrings but there wasn't much he could do about it while he was stuck at the Dursley's. He just couldn't allow her to fly about the neighborhood bringing attention to herself. She was such a beautiful snowy owl; the nosey neighbors would surely take notice of her if he let her out more than he did.

Reaching up to her, Harry tried to pacify her with an owl treat while giving her gentle, long, even, slow strokes down her back, all the while telling her in soft tones, "It's for your own good, girl."

Reluctant to take the treat at first, she finally forgave Harry and eagerly nibbled the peace offering.

Harry sighed and then the irony of what he had just said to Hedwig hit him. This was precisely the same type of lecture he got from Dumbledore at the end of every school year convincing Harry to go back to the Dursley's each summer. Rejecting this thought as fast as it had appeared, Harry mentally noted that this was not the same. He really did have Hedwig's best interests at heart but just couldn't concede that Dumbledore had Harry's best interests in mind, sending him _here,_ _back here_ year after year. This was the _Dursleys,... the Dursleys... _the family despised Harry and all that he represented.

Harry knew the summers were just as hard on Hedwig being cooped up in her cage as it was for Harry being holed up in his bedroom. She enjoyed her time in the Owlery at Hogwarts, surrounded with other owls, having her freedom just as Harry enjoyed his time with his friends and the freedoms he enjoyed at school.

Once the cage was open, Hedwig wasted no time in vacating the cage, perching herself on top with a hoot of defiance. Without words, she made it _known_ to Harry that she was annoyed with her prolonged captivity by her stare. Harry nodded to her and quietly raised his bedroom window allowing her to fly out and enjoy an evening hunt. Fortunately, the Dursleys had never reinstalled the bars on Harry's window after the one summer that Fred, George and Ron came to pick him up riding their dad's Ford Angler.

As soon as she was airborne, Harry was sure he saw her turn her head and look at him over her left wing, beckoning him to join her. If Harry had the means, there was no doubt he would join her on his broom as he loved the feeling of flight. The rush of wind on his face with the absolute euphoric rush of freedom was a feeling Harry could never imagine tiring of. But, Harry would have to settle for just going out for a walk as flying on his Firebolt would most likely bring about a visit from the Ministry of Magic people, landing Harry in a lot of hot water as he had already been warned the summer before that another display of magic in the muggle world would not be tolerated and that there would be restitution. The Statute of Secrecy is quite strict and explicit in defining the usage or display of magic in the presence of muggles.

Feeling a bit better for letting Hedwig out of her cage, Harry decided to go out for a walk and stretch his limbs too. He'd decided Hedwig had the right idea. As Harry left the house, he made sure not to let the screen door make a sound behind him, otherwise he would be hearing from his Uncle. As much as he didn't want a visit from the Ministry of Magic threatening to snap his wand for underage use of magic, he wanted a confrontation with his Uncle even less. Harry had been home three weeks and he'd somehow managed to not upset his Uncle enough for one of his purple-faced, eye-bulging rants. How Harry had managed this so far was a miracle as his Uncle was even more testy than Harry had ever remembered.

With Harry gone most of the year, he wasn't sure if the Dursleys had gotten more resentful of having Harry home for the summer, or if he was the one having the harder time coping with the forced re-bonding.

After 5 years at Hogwarts, Harry had gotten used to being treated like a worthwhile being. Just then an image of Professor Snape crept into his mind, and Harry involuntarily shuddered. Well, make that worthwhile to _most _in the wizarding world.

* * *

A/N: I had one reviewer point out that the whisperer referring to itself as both 'we' and then as 'I' is confusing, I apologize for the temporary confusion as this will be addressed in later chapters.

I am also a very slow writer and producing chapters is a very painful extraction, so, please bear with me while I plug along and hopefully deliver a story that is worth the frustrating wait for you readers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 01

**Harry Potter and Pure Blooded Truths**

* * *

Chapter 4

**Presents and Parties**

Sitting in his room, Harry was watching his birthday present zip around the room in exaggerated wide sweeping motions, darting near him but always staying just out of his reach. It wouldn't have been so bad except for the fact that Pigwidgeon was flying about the room trying to keep pace with his present. A passing thought occurred to Harry that she was jealous, it was probably the first time she had been confronted with an object that was as fast and smaller than he was and he was determined to be the victor in this perceived challenge.

After the small owl crashed into the hanging lamp, Harry decided that he had to put a stop to the owl's antics before the Dursleys were awakened. Not interested in starting out his birthday with rants from his uncle, Harry picked up an oversized t-shirt, and held it up between his outstretched arms, creating a make-shift barrier to catch the tiny owl in. Unfortunately Pig was not interested in making Harry's life easy, as he easily skirted all attempts made to catch him.

After several failed attempts, Harry finally relented and accepted the fact that he wasn't going to be able to catch the owl; so began plan B, bribery. He walked over to Hedwig's cage where he kept a pouch of treats and retrieved a few. Firmly pinching a treat between his finger and thumb, Harry tried to coax the overly active owl to land on his outstretched arm in exchange for the treat. Pig saw the treat and started towards Harry but was waylaid when the tiny object darted in front of him, stopping in mid-flight, the tiny owl rotated his head several times between the boy and his nemesis. Harry chuckled to himself when he saw the dilemma he was in, his stomach or the opponent.

With great reluctance, he abandoned his pursuit of the tiny enemy and landed on Harry's outstretched arm. Not wanting Pig to feel bad about his decision, Harry immediately plied the tiny owl with plenty of treats, a drink of water, and lots and lots of praises. After eating his fill, Harry settled him into Hedwig's cage for a nice quiet nap.

With one flying menace having been taken care of, Harry picked up the operating instructions that came with his present, with the hope to see how to stop it or at least slow it down. Harry quickly scanned the instructions, and then whispered, "T_emporus Subsist_," and the small object slowed down. Now, hovering at eye level, Harry got his first look at the present Ron and Hermione had owled him. It was a golden snitch that had been converted into a clock.

The snitch alarm clock was something that Ron and Hermione had created by chance, a golden opportunity, as it were, presented itself to them and they seized it as determinedly as a vampire given carte blanche to a blood bank.

It had all started when Mrs. Weasley insisted that Ron clean his room shortly after he came home for summer break. Begrudgedly cleaning out his closet, Ron had unearthed an old wooden snitch, one that he had practiced with prior to attending Hogwarts. Looking like it had seen better days, Ron still couldn't discard the snitch as it held fond memories for him. This was when the idea hit him, to refurbish the snitch and give it to Harry for his birthday, a present his meager budget could afford.

In a letter to Hermione, Ron had mentioned his idea to her, and several brain-storming posts later, the two collectively decided on transfiguring and charming the snitch into a unique present for Harry, one that would benefit Ron as much as Harry.

Through Hermione's urgings, that teetered close to Ron's definition of nagging, aided with the help of the twins, he repaired the battered, broken down snitch. The broken and mangled wings were restored and they now fluttered better than when it was first gifted to Ron, a hand-me-down from his brother Charlie. George suggested a few more charms, and it no longer appeared wooden, rather, it now had a reflective metallic, golden luster. Ron's exuberant response to his brother was a single word, wicked.

While Ron was refurbishing the snitch, Hermione had donned her research cap. While they had been owling one another ideas, exhausting poor Pigwidgeon, Ron had suggested that the snitch turned alarm clock have multiple settings. That if the owner wasn't out of bed within a predetermined time frame, the clock would engage in a battle with the sleepy wizard.

Initially, multiple settings sounded like an excellent idea. Harry had been known to turn his alarm off, roll over and go back to sleep which invariably resulted in his missing breakfast, arriving to class out of breath, wearing horribly wrinkled clothes, hair in complete disarray, in short, looking like something the cat had dragged in. So, after Ron and Hermione had decided to create an alarm clock, Harry's perpetual tardiness became Hermione's personal mission to remedy. After all, they would be starting their NEWT level studies, so it was imperative that they not lollygag in bed when the time could be spent reviewing.

It had been quite the challenge, even for the intelligent witch, but she had finally managed to understand the precision of layering charms. Through some summer tutelage, she had discovered that the true challenge in properly layering charms was to prevent one from warping the effects of another. The failure most wizards had in compiling permanent charms was due to their ignorance regarding the compatibility of spells. Hermione's rudimentary knowledge of runes helped her out in her understanding the significance of the roots behind each incantation and it was her understanding of arithmancy that aided her in choosing spells that would be mathematically compatible with one another, yielding the result she desired.

Nodding her head in personal satisfaction, Hermione had decided to take a five minute break. Stretching her arms forward and rotating her shoulders, she put her quill down and started flexing her right hand, opening and closing it in rapid succession, an effective deterrent she had learned that prevented cramping. She had just completed her 9th page of instructions, detailing the first two of the seven specific charms she wanted incorporated into their joint birthday present.

While she would have preferred to have performed the charms herself, she had accepted the twins' offer of help, provided they follow her instructions, without deviation. Hermione had bitten her bottom lip raw from worry that she hadn't stressed enough the importance that Fred and George follow the exact process and incantations. Having not reached their age of majority, both Hermione and Ron were restricted from performing magic outside of Hogwarts, hence their reliance on the twins to help them complete this project.

Up a bit earlier than the other occupants of the household, Ron was sitting at the kitchen table, starring at a stack of parchment a school owl had recently delivered. _Blimey, a bloke can't even sleep in during the summer holidays. Hermione's a real nutter, putting this much work into figuring out sequencing charms to get Harry's birthday present to work the way she wants it to._

Bleary eyed from his early morning rise, Ron had just finished reading Hermione's latest letter to him, wishing he had stayed in bed. His face held a blank expression, giving no clues to his inner turmoil, and then he slowly slumped across the table. With his arms fully extended, holding the parchment in both hands, he began softly smacking his forehead on the table in a display of mild frustration.

_It would be a lot easier if we just admitted defeat. ... Harry's always in need of a broom waxing kit._ Pulling himself back to an upright position, Ron released the letter from his death grip and scrubbed his scalp with his fingertips. Throwing his head backwards, he let out an audible grunt of frustration. He then started to stare at the ceiling, until he noticed some cob webs in the far corner. Not wanting to think about what those cob webs indicated, he brought his attention back to the letter innocently sitting in front of him. Dejectedly slumping his shoulders, he picked up the parchment and began to read Hermione's instructions again, desperately hoping that this time the directions would make some sense.

He rolled his eyes when he spied the paragraph where Hermione described how thrilled she was that Professors Vector, Babblings and Flitwick had been impressed with her independent project. And then the letter droned on about why layering charms were not taught to students, as the precision required was beyond even NEWT level classes and that only those going on for a Masters in a combination of the three subjects, Charms, Arithmancy and Runes would a person learn the artistry entailed. Ron groaned, he was getting an imaginary headache just thinking that he could hear her lecturing him on the topic.

Ron was unaware that Hermione had panicked after she had initially begun researching the charm work needed to create the would be alarm clock. She had frantically poured over every charm book in her possession, before she realized that her warehouse of material was wholly inadequate. Being deprived of the Hogwarts library did not deter the young woman, she sought out the next best thing to a book, her professors. As soon as Hermione had realized that she would need help, she had owled the professors, explained her plight, and had politely asked for their assistance.

In a letter addressed jointly to her three professors, she had outlined what information she had been able to obtain and what conclusions she was able to extrapolate but that she needed more guidance and was hoping to garner their assistance. The three professors had been so impressed with the young witch's preliminary work, and her rudimentary understanding that, along with a few books on loan from the school library, and helpful suggestions regarding her current project, they had offered to jointly mentor her on a new project when she returned to Hogwarts, if she was interested. This had thrilled Hermione more than what one would ever consider normal for a teenager, to be happy with the knowledge that additional assignments and hours of research would befall her the following school year was unconceivable to Ron, as it would be to most teenagers. Once she had descended from her academic high, she had started to panic, the thoughts racing in her head ran the full gambit of how was she going to properly prepare herself before her return to how many more books she would be able to get on loan from the school library over the summer to help herself in her preparation. Fortunately she had already completed the summer assignments so that at least didn't plague her thoughts.

With the aid of her professors, Hermione had meticulously devised an array of charms, that combined, would not allow the owner easy access to shut the alarm off or to easily ignore it. At the onset of the alarm, the snitch would fly about the room chirping, not hovering close enough for an able body to catch it from a prone position. Being forced out of bed to disable the alarm, guaranteed, in Hermione's mind that the owner would then be ready to begin his day.

It wasn't until Ron had finally come to understand all that was involved with phase two, that he groaned. _What's this rubbish? I cannot believe Hermione's this clueless. If a bloke's determined to stay in bed, he'll succeed with these types of lame deterrents_. So caught up in his reading of Hermione's instructions, he had failed to notice when his brothers had entered the kitchen.

When they had noticed that their younger brother hadn't looked up, the twins knew something was seriously wrong; Ron was sitting at the kitchen table and wasn't shoveling food into the black hole some referred to as his mouth. Then, spotting the papers in their younger sibling's hands, they smirked at one another in secret code before George broke the silence.

"Oi, what's this you got there Ronnikins, an early morning love letter?" Lunging across the table, George tried to grab the parchment out of his brother's hand, and missed.

"Oooooooo, looks like you might be right, little brother," Fred added.

With the amount of time he'd already spent pouring over Hermione's letter, Ron was not in a playful mood. Throwing the stack of parchment at his brother George, Ron began verbally lashing out, releasing his pent up frustrations on those nearest him.

"The barmy woman turned an excellent idea into a complete disaster."

The twins, having already been apprised of the project, knew instantly what Ron was blathering on about. And being wise elder brothers, they knew to tread lightly when dealing with Ron's explosive temper, so they kept their tongues occupied with spoonfuls of porridge rather than spewing out cheeky retorts.

After a few short moments of awkward silence, Ron abruptly stood and started pacing the small kitchen. Without preamble, he began describing phase one to his brothers, occasionally stopping to make sure he still had their attention. The occasional nods of understanding were the only prompts Ron required to continue.

All was relatively calm during his explanation of phase one, however, when Ron began describing phase two, his demeanor radically changed. He let out an audible huff and his voice hitched. In a final show of agitation, he flailed his arms about as he finished describing his personal thoughts on the effectiveness of phase two.

"I don't have a problem with phase one, the hovering snitch chirping and making a right pest of itself is perfect, but if that isn't enough to get a bloke out of bed, Hermione's ideas for phase two falls flatter than the greasy git's hairdo."

Slumping back into his vacated seat, Ron continued his rant. "The snitch should be going in for the kill, not blowing puffs of air at Harry like some love struck fairy."

In an effort to calm himself before he got even more wound up, Ron closed his eyes and paused a moment before he continued. "Knowing Hermione and her dislike for anything violent, it'll probably have as much punch behind it as a girl blowing kisses at a bloke from across a crowded room."

Being all keyed up, Ron had completely missed the looks of longing his brothers shot one another. Unlike their younger sibling, the twins would not mind being on the receiving end of a few kisses blown their way. Silence reigned over the room while the three boys pondered the merits of being awoken up in such a fashion, with Ron's being radically different from Fred and George's musings.

George was caught up in his own fantasies of waking up every morning to soft kisses when it dawned on him that, his innocent, naive brother was spot on. Any normal teenaged boy would purposefully stay in bed to receive such a morning greeting. The goal of getting a bloke out of bed would completely fail. Ron was right on the mark but far from the target, in George's opinion.

It was Ron who broke the lingering silence, "Honestly, if that's all that's needed to get a bloke out of bed, then Mom made it hard on herself for nothing."

All three boys broke out in huge grins and a lingering silence reigned over the kitchen as they began to reminisce.

After a short trip down memory lane, Fred was the first to break the silence, "Yea, where's the fun in that? I mean, every morning was a real adventure around here, not knowing what goodies mom would pull out of her apron to spring on us."

The three of them then started recanting some of the more creative ways their mother got them out of bed, stories about the mattresses growing hundreds of feelers and tickling them when they were young, to the mattress throwing them onto the floor before it ran off and disappeared. And as the boys aged, so grew the methods Molly used on them. Being a mindful mother, Mrs. Weasley did not employ the twirl-a-bed method until she was sure they were old enough to not sick up on the mattress.

"Yea, I remember that one. The best part was that mum was convinced that she had found the perfect method of getting us out of bed with the least amount of effort."

An enormous face splitting grin appeared on Fred's face before he added, "Who could ever forget your whimpers the first time mum sent you for a spin?"

"Hey no fair bringing up that one episode. A bloke being tossed about with morning bladder is quite unpleasant."

"Yea, I remember you were quite green around the gills when mum said that you'd better hold it or sleep in your own mess. Don't rightly remember what had her panties in such a twist that morning but she was battle ready before she even entered our room."

All three boys broke out in snickers reminiscing about the good old days around the Burrow.

The twins still felt rather proud of themselves for having been able to deceive their mother into thinking that she had finally found a way to get them out of bed with little effort on her part. What they had never let on to her was that the twirl-a-bed was their favorite way to 'wake' up in the mornings, but only if they got to the loo to relieve their bladders before she stormed in the room to rouse them out of bed. George having wet the bed at age eight was not forgotten in the Weasley household for several years.

Ron always knew his brothers were mental, but hearing how they would wake up early to visit the loo and then pretend to have a lie in on the outside chance that they'd get a twirl-a-bed ride removed any doubts he might have had regarding their sanity. _Definitely mental, those two_.

Stories aside, the three boys started reading Hermione's dissertation. Even having been warned about Hermione's obsessive behavior, Fred and George were still overwhelmed with the sheer number of pages Ron had presented to them. However, after they had started reading Hermione's instructions regarding layering charms, their interests grew and they no longer loathed the idea of trudging through the lengthy explanations. In fact, the more they read, the more eager they were to lend their services for such a worthy cause.

While the three boys were quietly discussing some of the finer points of Hermione's research, another Weasley male entered the kitchen. Leaning against the counter top fixing himself a cup of espresso, Bill half listened to his younger siblings' animated conversation. Bill was silent, waiting for the caffeine to clear the remaining morning fog residing in his head. While pretending to be solely interested in emptying the dregs at the bottom of his cup, he began to actively listen in on the conversation between the three miscreants.

Half way through his second cup, Bill had pieced together enough snippets of the running conversation to determine that they were designing a gift that was going to be layered in charms, and this peaked his interest. Few wizards understood layering charms, an ignorance Bill did not share. Being a curse breaker, Bill dealt with the intricacies of layered charms on a daily basis.

Having spent the previous two years in Egypt as an apprentice curse breaker, Bill had become quite adept at disarming cursed objects that were charmed in various layers of nasty repellents. Some of the more ingenious artifacts Bill had been 'introduced' to were charmed in layers of rotating hexes. Those were some of the more challenging artifacts to nullify, as the artifact would have to be triggered enough times to expose all the hexes it harbored. And all too often, this turned out to be a dangerous game of roulette, as most curse breakers sported injuries when delegated one of these specialty items to disarm.

Once Bill had been brought up to speed regarding the charms Hermione had created and how they were layered, Bill began suggesting a few enhancements that could augment the project. Unlike Hermione's, Bill's ideas were laced with a bit more, ...bite. The innocent wake up call Hermione had originally devised, now had the potential to become one of calamity, if the owner ignored the order to rise. Bill's ideas were not only plentiful and innocently devious, he also provided his skills to personalize the snitch-clock to Harry's magical signature, ensuring that Harry's dorm mates would not be bothered by the persistent wake-up call. With Bill's modifications, the snitch-alarm got the Weasley seal of approval from the twins.

With Bill's help, the three younger Weasley men finished charming Harry's present with time to spare before his birthday. The unspoken agreement between the four of them was to not inform Hermione of their alterations. With an acknowledged nod to one another, they had officially adopted the 'don't ask, don't tell' motto, often used by the Weasley children as a parental shield. The boys had all learned early on in life that it was often beneficial to their bottoms if they took precautions to kept certain information from reaching their mother, and in this case, the same thoughts applied to one Hermione Granger. Ron involuntarily shuddered when the thought of the lecture he would endure should Hermione learn of their enhancements.

It's a wonder Harry's facial muscles didn't hurt from the enormous grin that never slackened from his face as he closely examined his present. After admiring the snitch for a fair amount of time, turning it this way and that, Harry finally picked up the letter that his two best friends had attached to the package. The letter that had for the most part gone unread as capturing the snitch had consumed Harry's attention as soon as it had escaped it's boxed confines.

With the now read birthday greetings in his lap, signed by not only Ron and Hermione, but by Fred, George and Bill as well, Harry felt happier than he had in a long while. Feeling slightly ashamed of himself as he glanced at a stack of unanswered letters, Harry was truly happy that his best friends hadn't abandoned him after he had ignored them all summer. Relieved that his friends were not irritated with him for his neglectful behavior, Harry continued to admire the birthday present, marveling at it's uniqueness and practicality.

Harry chuckled when it occurred to him that his present had been given one of his best friends' personality traits. Charming in it's own way, it was a complete and utter nag. Only Hermione would think it a good thing to charm an alarm clock into pestering him until he did as he was bid, to get out of bed. _I guess I should be thankful that Hermione didn't think to charm it for 'study-time'_. The thought sparked a shiver of fear that ran down Harry's spine but didn't break his good mood.

All in all, Harry's birthday was looking up. He repackaged the little snitch along with the activation instructions, taking great care to not initiate any settings until school started, as per the instructions before he headed down to the kitchen to have some breakfast. Grabbing a quick bowl of cold cereal, he sated his meager appetite. He then quickly cleaned his bowl and put it away before he started to head outside.

He hadn't been out of the house much since he'd arrived at Number 4 Privet Drive for the summer and his complexion showed it. Not only was his complexion sallow, his eyes were sunken from lack of sleep, yet he was sleeping and eating better than he had been. Having spent most of the summer in his small bedroom with the light switch off, Harry had a severe reaction to the bright sunlight when he took his first step onto the stoop. In an involuntary action his hand shot up to shield eyes from the intensity of the sunlight. Electing to not move while being temporarily blinded, Harry stayed on the porch, giving his eyes time to adjust. It took only a few moments for his eyes to adjust before he took his first step.

Harry got as far as the driveway, when he heard his Aunt calling his name. "Boy, if you think you're going to sneak out of the house before doing the laundry you've another thing coming," came the voice from the kitchen window. In an effort to keep nosey neighbors ignorant to the goings on in her house, Petunia had perfected her voice to project just enough so that Harry would be able to hear the command but her voice would not carry far enough for the neighbors to hear her berating her nephew.

Shrugging his shoulders and kicking his foot at an invisible object, Harry turned around and headed back into the house. Abandoning any teenaged rant as to why it was unfair to do chores on one's birthday, Harry elected to keep his thoughts to himself, resolving to sneak out later that evening.

* * *

Shortly before Harry went home for the summer, Dumbledore had paid Mrs. Figg a visit, and with as few details as possible, he had revealed that Harry had witnessed the death of his godfather, a man whom Harry regarded as a father figure. Mrs. Figg didn't need wizarding powers to conclude that Dumbledore was torn between sending Harry back to the Dursley's or keeping him in an environment that would be more emotionally healing. Unfortunately, Dumbledore did not have the luxury of an option other than sending Harry back to the Dursley's; he was not of legal age and, like it or not, the Dursley's were his guardians and his best source for protection against a possible attack.

Once Dumbledore had finished filling Mrs. Figg in about Harry's recent experience at the Ministry and his resultant state of emotional frailty, he began to unfold the real purpose of his visit.

Locking eyes with the woman, the elder wizard quietly began, "It is my hope that you will be able to keep close tabs on Harry this summer and send me updates regarding your sightings, personal observations, and opinions. Harry returns this summer in a fragile emotional state. He needs time to heal his wounds and not have them exasperated."

From his pocket, Dumbledore removed a small jewelry box and placed it on the table between them. "And it is my hope that this trinket here should aid you in your endeavor."

Having followed his movements with her eyes, the woman glanced up from the box on the coffee table, she tentatively moved her hand towards the box, paused and looked the wizard in the eye, and asked hesitantly, "May I?"

His response was a simple, please.

She reached over, picked up the small rectangular box, paused briefly and then flipped the hinged lid up. Inside she gasped when she saw a bewitchingly beautiful golden bracelet. The bracelet was a delicately woven golden chain, sporting multiple precious gemstones of various sizes dangling in a patterned array of larger to smaller, from one color to the next.

Noticing her hesitation in touching the bracelet, Dumbledore leaned over the coffee table towards the woman and began, "I would like for you to wear this bracelet while Harry is living with his relatives."

Not taking the box from the woman sitting across from him, Dumbledore reached over, touched the bracelet with his finger and began to outline the usage of the trinket. "This bracelet is embedded with charms that are attuned to you and only you. You need not fear wearing it or having a Muggle touch it, for only your touch will trigger the charms to activate it."

Pointing at the largest of the blue stones, the wizard began explaining specific details of the bracelet. "This sapphire is directly linked to my office at Hogwarts. Hold it between your thumb and forefinger for three seconds, then place your palm firmly on a sheet of charmed paper from this stack here," the wizard patted the top sheet of a stack of parchment that had magically appeared, "and your written account will appear on an identical stack of papers in my office."

Arabella immediately understood the unsaid conversation and meaning behind such a charm. Communication by this method would eliminate the risk of an owl being intercepted. With information traveling back and forth detailing Harry's health and state of mind, as well as his location, an interception of such information could put Harry's life in great peril. And living amongst muggles, it would be best to keep owl post to a minimum for fear of drawing unwanted attention as owls were not common in muggle neighborhoods.

Looking between the bracelet and the stack of papers that magically appeared on her coffee table, the woman nodded her understanding. "Squeeze for three seconds, and then press my palm on the paper, understood," came the woman's confirmation of the directions.

"I would like to receive frequent updates on Harry's condition this summer. No matter how trite you may think they are, I would like to hear from you and to read your observations."

Sitting back in his chair, the wizard continued, "There are charms that I could place on Harry, but eyewitness accounts are preferable. While the charms would alert me to any radical changes in Harry's health they have their limitations in that they are only useful in dire circumstances Harry may find himself involved in. Charms are not in of themselves sentient therefore, they do not convey information regarding the emotional state of health of the person the charm is monitoring."

The mood in the room sobered as the aged wizard said, "It is imperative that you keep me abreast regarding Harry's state of health, mental as well as physical. Should it deteriorate further, I will bring him back to Hogwarts and make other arrangements for the rest of the summer."

The woman looked at the man sitting opposite her and was about to speak when he interjected first, "I don't anticipate that things will come to this but it is best to have multiple plans ready to enact should there be a need."

Opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of water, she wasn't sure how to voice what she was feeling, mostly because she didn't know what she was feeling other than unease.

"In truth," he said, "I expect things to be a bit smoother for Harry this summer. He's understandably depressed right now, but he will be helped this summer in various ways that will ease his pain."

And with this statement, Arabella looked at the man and noticed what she could have sworn was a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

Not missing a beat, he then moved his fingers and pointed to the largest ruby. "This gem is charmed in layers for different warnings. If Harry's life is in peril, hold the gemstone between your thumb and forefinger for a minimum of fifteen seconds before releasing it and members from the Order will apparate to your side, ready for battle."

"If Harry's life is not in any immediate danger but you feel that things are amiss and would like some back up, press the same ruby in several rapid successions. This motion with activate the alarms differently. Members within Order Headquarters will be alerted that you are in need of some help in assisting Harry but that his life is not in immediate danger."

The last gemstone that she was instructed about was in regards to the largest emerald on the bracelet.

"When this gemstone is activated by your touch, the Ministry will be alerted that Harry is in need of immediate attention and the Ministry will be in charge of any rescue attempt made," began the last instructions Dumbledore enumerated to the woman regarding the bracelet. "The alarms will sound at the aurors headquarters in the Ministry rather than at the Order." He did not voice his desire for her to avoid touching the emerald gemstone, yet his eyes clearly transmitted this message to the woman.

While many members of the Order worked at the Ministry, some as aurors, it would be difficult to move quickly and stealthy with Ministry involvement. And with ex-Minister Fudge having publicly declared Harry as good as insane for his claims that Voldemort had been resurrected, Dumbledore felt that it would be best to keep Ministry involvement away from Harry as the child had little faith in the system at this time.

At the close of their brief meeting, Mrs. Figg placed her hand on the wizard's arm and told him that she would be extra vigilant this summer and would keep him abreast to any changes she might observe in Harry.

* * *

The perfectly controlled pitch and volume of his father's trademark oration came from the direction of his bedroom door, "Draco, your mother has a few last minute details to tend to, so I have been sent to retrieve you in her stead."

Briefly pulling his eyes from his son, he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a small vial of a green potion. Prominently displaying the small vial between his thumb and forefinger, Lucius made slight motions with his wrist, swinging the bottle in a small pendulum-like arc. Well aware that his son had noticed the vial of potion, he felt no compelling need to verbally announce its existence.

"For specifics unknown to me, she also wanted me to check with you to see if you were in need of a vial of pepper-up potion as it would be most unbecoming for you to fall asleep or be less than attentive during a dinner given in your honor."

The voiced message was innocuous in of itself, but the family was proficient in delivering a tome of nonverbal messages within a few carefully chosen spoken words. In this instance, Draco was aware of the following: that his mother had sent his father and not a house elf to deliver the potion and that his father would not leave before he witnessed that he had indeed ingested the potion.

Draco inwardly sighed to himself, understanding with clarity that the true unspoken message conveyed that his mother was concerned about him. Concerned enough that she sent Lucius to personally tend to her bidding, making sure that he ingested the pepper-up potion rather than place it untouched on a side table, as he would have been done had an elf been sent on the errand.

Returning his gaze to his reflection in the full length mirror where he had been preening himself all afternoon, then flicking at an imaginary piece of lint on his lapel, all in an attempt to delay an orchestrated response his mind was racing to think up. Having carefully settled on a proper retort, Draco responded in his own icy drawl, "Father, I have no intentions of embarrassing myself nor the Malfoy name. Of this you and mother have taught me well. I will not allow the guests to catch any glimmer of a less than perfect presentation of myself."

Not allowing his son to gain control of the exchange, the man spoke while walking towards his son, "Admirable intentions all too often come up short and plague those fool hearty enough that not heed valuable advice and assistance. At this juncture, I respectfully request that you put aside your pride and personal assurances, and do as you are told. I have been instructed to deliver this pepper-up potion to you, to make assurances that you'll last well past the last course, making certain that all matters of protocol are met."

Draco hesitated to reach for the vial his father was holding out to him as he _had_ been feeling better this past week, not taking to his bed nearly as frequently. When Draco's persistent lethargy had been exposed, he'd been subjected to a very thorough checkup. The family medi-wizard had found nothing unusual in his scans but as a precaution had prescribed some bone strengthening potions as well as nutritional supplements to counter any adverse effects his sudden growth spurt might have had on his body. It wasn't until a family friend had assured his mother that fault could not be found with the doctor's findings and he offered to supply the potions prescribed.

Knowing his parents' traditional stance on split marital responsibilities, Draco felt reasonably secure that his mother had not informed his father regarding the extent of his sleep induced behavior. This safeguard afforded him the luxury to behave justifiably cocky for his father's intrusion and insistence that he drink the potion.

"Father, I don't believe I need this, and I view this as an affront to my character." Hitching his chin in a slight show of petulance, he then continued, "However, I willingly ingest the contents of this vial for your peace of mind and not mine as proof that I am honor bound to not bring shame to the family name." And in a display of defiant pride, Draco took the vial from his father's hand and downed the contents in one gulp, steam erupted from both his ears seconds later.

A child brought up under lesser conditions, in a household expecting less than perfection in manners of personal conduct would have simply stuck his tongue out, and this was Draco's way of doing so, an act of acceptable defiant compliance perfected through years of practice.

Having noticed the slight sting of resentment from his son, Lucius raised one eyebrow before responding. "I am glad to see that you do not take your responsibilities lightly. We are purebloods and as such we conduct ourselves with dignity at all times."

"Now, if you are quite finished with your primping," Lucius looked at his son with a teasing smirk on his face, "you should head downstairs as the guests will be arriving shortly."

Draco looked at the time and noted that he had at least fifteen minutes before he would be needed downstairs. "I shall be down shortly, father."

Not feeling slighted by his son's dismissal, the elder Malfoy excused himself, and slipped into his own bedroom chambers to make a few last minute adjustments to himself. When entertaining, a Malfoy must always be the belle of the ball.

* * *

Draco was half way down the staircase that spilled into the middle of the grand foyer when he noticed the first of the guests arriving. He relaxed and shot a smile to Pansy as she entered through the double doors with her mother. He'd grown up with Pansy as well as a few of his other dorm mates since the time that they were in nappies, and because of this familiarity they did not subject one another to false airs as they all had far too many embarrassing secrets on one another.

Pansy nudged her mother's arm while tipping her head towards Draco, who was still descending, now being a few steps from the landing. "Oh Draco, darling. You've grown since I last saw you. And your longer hair makes you look absolutely delicious. It's no wonder Pansy constantly talks about you," came the familiar greeting from Pansy's mother, along with the usual greeting of an air kiss on each cheek.

"Why thank you Mrs. Parkinson, you're looking rather ravishing yourself. I've no doubt you'll be receiving compliments all evening, as that particular shade of blue in your gown accentuates your eyes splendidly."

Exhaling an overly exaggerated sigh, Draco continued with his theatrics, "But it's such a shame that all your admirers will be staring into your lovely eyes when they should spend time admiring that gown. Another original creation of yours?"

In a game they'd perfected over the years, Draco crossed his arms over his chest, cocked his head to one side and hiked a thin eyebrow; he was not leering at the woman in an illicit manner, rather he was projecting his approval in a manner she expected and delighted in. This ritual of playfully exaggerated compliments was then followed by a quick smile and hug between the woman and the boy.

"Always the flatterer. A Malfoy through and through." After being betrayed by the flashes of delight that had registered in her eyes, the woman coyly glanced down at her gown pretending to smooth away a nonexistent wrinkle, all the while reveling from the bold compliments.

Having been widowed at an early age, the beautiful woman was a bit obsessive about her looks and went to great lengths in grooming her outward appearance to one of perfection, an obsession that was emulated by her daughter, Pansy. Having grown up around this woman, Draco knew that the seemingly shallow woman's preoccupation with fashion was really a facade, a means to mask the grief and insecurities that had an iron grip on her heart. She had never fully come to terms with her feelings of abandonment and the loss of her husband and so she found supercilious distractions welcome for they served as a temporary release from the pain she suffered in silence.

Reverting back to his perfected languid drawl, Draco injected, "I can guess that by your early arrival time, mother had planned on spending some time with you before too many guests arrived."

"I had assumed as much when I saw the time on the invitation," came her cheerful reply.

When Camilla had received her invitation and noticed the early activation time of the portkey, she was delighted that Narcissa had set aside time for the two of them to visit before the throngs of guests would make their appearances.

For parties that entailed guests numbering greater than a dozen invitees, Narcissa would preset arrival times. The invitations served a dual function; in addition to serving as an invitation, they also served as temporary portkeys that activated at the precise time indicated on the invitation. If the recipients of the invitation were not ready at the designated time, holding onto the card when it activated, then, they missed out on the affair entirely.

Affairs hosted by the Malfoy's never allowed guests to arrive via a floo connection. Knowing that every transport used in a floo connection was registered within the Ministry, both the origination and destination locations, the Malfoy's preferred other means of travel and always disengaged all floo connections to the manor when hosting a party. The inaccessibility of floo travel combined with extensive anti-apparation wards surrounding the manor also prevented uninvited guests from gaining access to the premises.

Only those foolish enough to believe the world was full of good intentioned people lowered their protective wards during parties, allowing guests to apparate in at random; the Malfoys were not of this breed. Because of the caliber of influential people often invited to their soirees, the wards were in fact strengthened during their parties, as a show of honor and security for their guests' wellbeing and comfort during their engagement.

Uninvited guests were not bounced off the wards, as was the norm, rather, during such affairs hosted by the Malfoys, the intruder would be encased in a magical, apparation-proof cell that was then transported by house elves to the dungeon of the manor. After spending the night in the dungeon, the intruder would be questioned the following morning by Lucius; this most likely being the strongest deterrent of all in keeping unwanted guests at bay. These wards were also effective in keeping occupants in the home until they were granted permission to leave, as Draco had found out in his earlier teenaged years when he was trying to sneak out while grounded.

In addition to the distrust of the Ministry knowing who she invited to her home, the thought of having a guest arrive to any affair she hosted via the floo network was not an option Narcissa considered acceptable. Aristocratic pureblooded witches with any proper upbringing would never consider arriving to an affair, soot covered. So, an apparating gazebo was erected for each and every party the manor hosted. The apparating gazebo was not a permanent fixture and it's location varied from one event to another for fear that a stationary object's coordinates would cause a breech in security.

Each invitation issued also carried with it a designated time of arrival for it's intended. It would do no good for guests to feel insulted by their assigned arrival time as it was a necessity and carefully orchestrated. For a witch or wizard of a lower class status to arrive simultaneously with a foreign dignitary would be a breech of etiquette and highly insulting, or if a guest were to apparate on top of another because of poor planning or open arrival times, the resultant effect could dampen the mood of the gala. Narcissa would never allow such an oversight to occur, hence her meticulous chartings were always checked and double checked before invitations were ever sent out. Her personal attention to every detail resulted in the appeal to receive an invitation to any of the parties Narcissa hosted as her affairs were flawless, tasteful and always enchanted partygoers.

Feeling righteously smug for his successful foray with Pansy's mother, Draco positioned his elbow in an unspoken offering to escort the woman to his mother. The witch playfully tapped his forearm and replied, "You two young people need time to get reacquainted; I'm sure I can find my way without an escort."

Knowing that Mrs. Parkinson knew her way around the manor well, Draco called to her retreating form, "Mother should be in the Ancestral Hall."

Leaving the two story formal greeting foyer, Camilla left the entry and headed toward the east wing. Few residences could compare to the Malfoy Manor, while always elegant, Narcissa had skillfully transformed the once ostentatious manor into a home, one that warmly welcomed it's inhabitants. With an exactness that was uniquely her own, Narcissa had transformed the Manor into a place that reflected her style; decorated in rich colors that radiated warmth and comfort, providing an inviting atmosphere, cherished by the few rare individuals granted access to the family's true living quarters.

Narcissa made sure to never embody her personality to the east wing, as this was where formal gatherings, dignitaries or business associates and their dealings, of all sorts, would assemble. The east wing had been refreshed and moderately updated but never altered from it's intended provision; it was purposely left as a symbol that radiated the family's status and stature.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** See Chapter 01

**Harry Potter and Pure Blooded Truths**

* * *

Chapter 5

**Family Secrets **

The Ancestral Hall was the largest chamber located within the east wing, a grand room reserved for formal occasions. A room, that by original design exuded an ambiance of pureblood supremacy. The first time Narcissa had crossed the threshold, she was alone, and her senses immediately reacted, putting her on heightened alert. Having been reared in a very strict traditional pureblood household, Narcissa was attuned to many forms of trappings that would go undetected by most. Cautiously surveying the room and all its artifacts, Narcissa had cast several detection spells yet she never located nor identified any specific charm.

As the days progressed, she found herself gravitating towards the room more and more. She was inwardly convinced that the room had charms discretely placed within its confines as the room had an almost unearthly appeal, subtly playing on her desire to free herself of her self control, to throw caution to the wind and to live for the moment. Whenever she entered the room, she instinctually felt that she was being monitored but could not pinpoint the source.

Over time, Narcissa had concluded that the wards in the room were non-discriminating. Whether it be a party setting or employing a ruse to bring a person in individually, everybody that crossed the threshold was affected. From some of the most guarded individuals to those oblivious to self preservation methods, the same changes could be observed, in varying degrees, if one knew what to look for. Narcissa had also come to realize that the wards specific to the room were not linked to the Malfoy bloodline nor the head of house, as her husband was also unknowingly affected.

A room to avoid least a situation occur when one was not completely in control of their self, was the conclusion Narcissa had come to with regard to the chamber. The woman's diligent caution was not a fear that a boggart would be able to manifest, but still a very real fear Narcissa kept close to her heart, for she always had a tight rein on any untoward emotional leakage. For Narcissa believed that her longevity was attributed to her concealment of certain personal beliefs. It was a necessity to always be in control of herself considering the circles that she often times found herself taking an active role in. The fear of being unmasked was why she had avoided the hall for years.

It was obvious to the woman, the wards were tapping into a person's defenses, making them more vulnerable. And the only reason to make a person vulnerable would be for easier probing. Reaching this conclusion was the easy part, now Narcissa had to try and figure out what controlled the wards and what their purpose was as they were not linked to the Malfoy heir, yet housed in the Malfoy homestead. With so many unknowns, Narcissa went on the defensive and assumed that the wards were not there for friendly reasons.

Avoiding the hall by no means meant that Narcissa lived in denial of it's existence nor remained ignorant of the significant empowerment the wielder could possess. Conferring with the manor's portraits and some thorough research of her own, Narcissa had deduced an ancestor had the charms woven into the foundation of the wing. With her mind defenses at their maximum, she had confronted the portrait, the one that bore the most overbearing of the Malfoy clan, the person whom she believed was responsible for having the charms installed in the manor.

The initial confrontation yielded little. In fact, the woman barely acknowledged Narcissa at all. The woman was a true matriarch, even in portraiture her carriage was regal and demanding of perfection from all who would dare address her. So staunch was her demeanor that only one other ever dared occupy the frame with her, when expressly invited.

It was not unusual for the Malfoy matriarch to demand obedience from the other portrait occupants hanging in the Ancestral Hall, they were not to interfere nor aid the young witch during the time of her assessment. The wards were hers, having only been temporarily relinquished to one other Malfoy heiress. Upon the death of the heiress, the bonds binding the wards to her were dissolved, the wards reverted back to the matriarch's control. Time favored the matriarch, she could wait, watch and access before she came to a decision on the latest Mrs. Malfoy that graced the manor.

With the passage of time, the matriarch had kept a vigil watch over the younger witch; Narcissa's conduct both private and public was closely scrutinized by the matriarch. At times, out of sheer boredom and because it suited her, she would acerbically chastise the younger woman just to have a worthy sparing partner, easing some of the boredom that plagued her. Early on it became abundantly clear that the younger Mrs. Malfoy was not easily intimidated and had proven to be a worthy opponent. Her sharp mind was matched by her equally expansive vocabulary, leaving the elder witch at a loss on more than one occasion. The banter never reached the levels to be considered abusive but it did keep both women ready to tango at any given moment. A game played by masterful masters, a game few could succeed at.

Portraits having no concept of time, the matriarch had paid little heed as to when she had grown to regard the beautiful young witch favorably. Not only had the matriarch grown to respect the younger witch, but the feeling was mutual. Initially a wide berth was given to one another, but eventually both parties gently warmed to one another's sense of self worth and biting humor. A strong sense of self esteem was a quality the elder witch could find no fault with as it was not a quality that was based on greed, as greed is not an ideal, it all too often drove a man to do things he otherwise might not.

The two women shared many personal antidotes and stories about themselves. Both women hailed from affluent backgrounds, yet their family's ideologies differed greatly. Narcissa's family reveled in power and the station in life power afforded; while the elder woman's caregivers stressed the family unit, family bonds were worth preserving and cherishing above tangible goods or public opinion.

On afternoons that Narcissa had no social engagements, she would spend time in the family quarters where a second portrait of the matriarch hung. So important had their afternoon encounters become to the younger woman that she looked forward to their rousing, highly charged discussions that mostly centered around family, history, and politics.

As open and affable as the younger woman thought she had successfully presented herself as, the elder was not fooled, for she saw a deep seated sadness that lingered in the young witch's eyes. As expansive as the ocean, the blue eyes of the beautiful young witch were shadowed by an under current of fear. And like an ocean, the elder woman knew that waters could be calm one moment only to be riled up with the menacing force of a tsunami the next. An inner destructive force that needed to be tampered before the young woman drowned in her own sorrow.

The two women shared many things about themselves with one another. The long dead woman captured in portraiture oils, became more than a crotchety old woman to Narcissa, more than a mere mentor, she had become a true friend. A person who had always been elusive to the younger woman. Somebody worthy of sharing her deepest, darkest secret with, but Narcissa was still afraid, as she had never shared this particular secret with anybody.

Narcissa had been born a natural empath; an ability she had grown up being afraid of and ashamed of. As a young child she had no understanding of her empathic powers or how to control them. She only knew that something was terribly wrong with her and that solitude was a necessity as well as her only comfort.

Being born of the Nobel House of Black, brought prestige as well as hardships. Narcissa was never lacking for material possessions, but her emotional needs went unmet. Empathic children have an absolute need to be surrounded by compassionate people during their developmental years, otherwise, the results are often times life threatening.

Most empathic children lacking a stable support structure feel bombarded, and overwhelmed, eventually losing the ability to distinguish between their emotions and those belonging to others. These individuals often times fall into a pit of despair and rarely resurface, for it takes enormous inner strength to over come their personal demons, their faceless, bodiless tormentors. Those who are unable to claw their way out of the pit, drown themselves in inebriated bliss or end their lives in a desperate attempt to end their living nightmare.

Everybody knew the Black family — Dark Wizards, the lot of them, had been for generations. Respected by the Wizarding community, respected and feared. The many business associates and like minded individuals that frequented the Black family home made the young girl very afraid. It was as if she could feel their auras of malevolence. She could not tangibly see their auras but she could feel the blackness emanating from within their magical cores. She had nightmares of invisible black tendrils snaking out from people she knew, touching and infecting all in their path.

Narcissa was nearly six years old when her parents had bonded a personal elf to her. At the time, it was fashionable but not common for aristocrats to bond elves to their children. Unknown to her parents, it was this bonding, and the resulting friendship that developed that had saved Narcissa from the ensuing insanity that would have eventually consumed her.

The little girl spent many days having little to no interaction with adults, freely electing to spend her time with her bonded elf, Betsy. As a child, Narcissa did not understand that the reason she preferred Betsy's company over that of her peers and siblings was because the creature's emotional thought patterns were not transferable to her, allowing her a time of peace she rarely felt among others.

Betsy brought Narcissa out of her shell, her life of exile in her wardrobe. Betsy became the surrogate mother that the little girl was in desperate need of. The little elf's patience in dealing with the jittery child never faltered nor wavered. And even though they were nearly the same size, Betsy would hug and rock the child when needed, providing soothing words and a calmness that soothed the little girl's frazzled nerves. These small gestures and constant companionship gave Narcissa the emotional stability that she desperately needed to become a survivor and not a statistic.

It was not until Narcissa was well into her studies at Hogwarts, that she had learned facts about her empathic abilities and how to better cope with them. It was through her reading that she had learned that there was an organization specific to help individuals like her. The organization, _The Society of Empaths_ was comprised of a group of professionals with similar abilities, set up to help others with the same gift.

The teenager felt awash with relief, a place she could go, later, when she was sure nobody would be able to trace her, if she needed. It seemed that the simple knowledge that there was a place available should she require assistance was enough to satiate the young woman for several years. Information that would prove to be invaluable in years to come.

Uncharacteristic for the young woman, she had been sitting and fidgeting with the pleats in her skirt while she had conversed with the matriarch for the past twenty minutes. Shaping, smoothing, creasing, smoothing over and over her hand rubbed while she gathered her thoughts. The elder woman had noticed the departure from her usual demeanor, and had elected to patiently wait while the younger witch came to terms with what ever was troubling her.

Narcissa felt a complete wreck, not that any casual observer would notice due to the mask of calm she had perfected, the mask that had formed tiny cracks while she had been gathering some fortitude. Narcissa had decided that she would take the plunge and reveal her — handicap to the elder Mrs. Malfoy. So out of character for the younger woman, to want to share something extremely personal about herself. Information that she had kept caged, tucked away and hidden deep within, until now.

The reasons for this compulsion were simple enough, love and respect, but that did not make the task any easier for the younger woman. Even though she had decided to tell this woman about her empathic powers, and knowing that this woman would never betray her, that information did little to comfort her nerves. She was about to completely expose herself for the first time in her life, and she was scared. Being afraid of rejection and being afraid of being viewed as weak had been great motivating factors for her to have kept her powers secret all these years.

When the information finally came to light, the elder woman was not surprised in the least when the younger woman had revealed to her that she was an Empath. In their many antidotal stories, the young woman had displayed an uncanny perception and awareness of others. An awareness that defied wisdom in a woman so young, especially having led such a sheltered life. The revelation that she was an empath explained much about the young woman.

With the truth having finally been revealed, Narcissa felt the burden on her shoulders lessen. She had not been rejected nor criticized, rather the opposite. When the older woman had pointed out to her that while her fears to keep such information secret were real, given her family circumstances, her fears thinking that empathic powers made her emotionally weak were unfounded.

These frank discussions between the two women helped Narcissa begin to heal, to stop the brooding and self hatred she had harbored most of her life. The elder told Narcissa to not fret as not all Empaths were the weepy, mollycoddling, lip quivering sycophants that she had mistakenly thought them to be.

The matron further consoled the younger woman, telling her that her strengths and abilities had molded her into the type of person that succeeded in life, one that accepted challenges and worked them to an advantage. The elder woman told Narcissa that she knew this to be true because the younger woman had already been doing so. That she had been born with an ability that claimed the lives of the weak, and the fact that she was still standing strong was proof that she had great inner strength, a force of fortitude few could claim.

If one were to ask the matron her opinion, she would balk at the cliché muggle phrase, to turn lemons into lemonade, as nothing so common or ordinary would suffice in describing Narcissa's inner strength. Rather a more appropriate expression would be to turn a man into a warrior. Narcissa had used her gift and hardened herself for success with and because of it.

The elder woman had nothing but praise for the troubled young woman. An element of distinction that had rarely been bestowed upon Narcissa growing up. She had graciously accepted the compliments but years passed before she took any of the compliments to heart with conviction.

One afternoon, after the two women, one alive, one not, had had a rousing discussion involving politics as well as personal beliefs, the matriarch had decided it was time to acknowledge the younger witch. Still interested in the room's wards but no longer threatened by them, Narcissa was taken aback by what the Malfoy ancestor had proposed to her at the close of their afternoon tête-à-tête To Narcissa's astonishment and credit she did not gape like a fish out of water when the secrets of the room and all they entailed were revealed to her.

Narcissa had learned that the original purpose of the charms was to determine fealty. Not dissimilar to the present, there was a time when wizards and witches were plagued by the shadow of mistrust. A misspoken word could find oneself at the end of wand point, with death soon following.

This coincided when the wizarding community began its withdrawal from mixed society, isolating themselves from muggles. During this episode in history, many family lines ceased to exist, family members slain in the name of greed. Those with an unquenchable thirst for power eliminated the perceived competition to better secure their position in society.

Listening to the accounts the elder Mrs. Malfoy had lived through, Narcissa was not surprised that she had devised a means to protect her family. Hearing the countless stories of loss, all too often the underlying message being the same, the enemy from within was often times the most devastating, in both emotional toil as well as personal loss. Brother against brother brought about a terror within the very heart of the community, a wound that took decades to scab.

The charms offered a means for the woman to protect herself and her family from those with malicious intent, in a seemingly harmless setting and in an innocuous manner. She was determined that family or social gatherings at her home would not be the undoing of the Malfoy clan. Due to deep seated mistrust, the knowledge of and the information the wards provided were even kept from her husband. A man whom she adored but feared, feared his ambitious nature.

After lengthy discussions regarding the value of being privy to the information the charms could yield, Narcissa was more than interested. Knowing with certainty who to and who not to trust, would be most beneficial; especially now, with the rise of a Dark Lord. The information provided could save the lives of her loved ones, as it had for her mentor.

Before Narcissa would consider taking proprietorship over the charms, she would need to better hone her skills as an empath. She needed to employ a method to either shield her natural empathic powers or to selectively dampen those of the room, otherwise it was highly probable that she would be overwhelmed, and end up a permanent ward in the Magical Maladies wing of St. Mungos. She took her studies and training to heart as such an outcome was not permissible.

During this time of self imposed study, the main driving force, the Dark Lord, had fallen. The wizard had fallen in body; yet some of his followers believed that he would resurrect himself, like some god. The blind worshiping of this individual by many of her social peers disgusted Narcissa. The thought of prostrating oneself to any man was foreign to her way of thinking. Just the thought made Narcissa's lip curl up in an undignified manner.

Whether the Dark Lord would return or not was immaterial to Narcissa; she would not take chances with the safety of her family, especially now, with a young son to protect. The Dark Lord's followers were the type of wizards she had heard countless stories about from her mentor. The greedy and power hungry individuals who would kill their friends, neighbors, even family members on a whim to please their master.

As distasteful as the notion was to Narcissa, she had to admit that she needed help, if she was to become stronger. Allowing her pride to take a backseat was however not synonymous with suddenly being struck down stupid. There were precautions that needed to be taken and it would not do if haste made her sloppy, plans needed to be formulated and implemented before she made a move.

With the aid of many liberally applied glamours and a mismatched off-the-rack outfit, the young witch left the manor feeling secure that her identity had been properly disguised. Apparating, to a run down section of town, commonly referred to as _The Olde Market Square_, Narcissa sought out an organization that she had been aware of since her days as a student at Hogwarts, _The Society of Empaths_.

Narcissa made her way down the street that was fronted by one shabby building after another, until she found the one dilapidated building that she had been looking for. There displayed on the front of number twenty-three East Market Point was the plaque she had hoped to find. It simply read, _The Society of Empaths, Founded 1346_.

Within suite four-seventeen, Narcissa met with the program coordinator. After introductions had been properly dispensed with, Narcissa booked no hesitation, stating the reason for her appearance. In what could only be viewed as a rehearsed speech, the young woman had explained that she was an untrained empath and that she sought to change that deficiency in her education.

The man had listened to the most concise and precise explanation he had ever heard. In stark contrast to what the man usually experienced during these initial consultations, this woman did not drone on about her troubles, she had no need for consoling or hand holding, she came prepared and ready to take action. Clarion knew then, that he would admit the woman into the program. For someone to have sought the organization out and present themselves so rigidly, indicated to him that the woman was afraid of something.

With practiced poise, Narcissa thought she had successfully skirted any and all personal issues regarding her desire to learn how to better utilize her empathic powers. This would have been true, had it not been that Clarion too was an empath and had been assessing the woman's credibility during her interview. By the time the young woman left his office, Clarion was thoroughly impressed with her. He was left with the impression that while she was truthful in her desire to learn the craft, however she was less than forthright in her reasons to learn at such an accelerated pace. The woman was a mystery and she was well practiced in preserving her secrets.

In an effort to propel her studies along at an accelerated pace, Narcissa had agreed to meet at the office thrice weekly. Her time was evenly split between theory and practical lessons. The theoretical lessons were influenced by psychological as well as sociological studies of the human psyche. While the practicals emphasized training and analyzing information she gleaned from a controlled or monitored environment.

Narcissa had initially balked at the required time spent on the softer aspects of her art, yet came to appreciate the unwavering approach her tutors had insisted upon that she learn the psychology of the human mind. In addition to understanding personality types and possible triggers, Narcissa had gained an understanding of herself; a penetrating look into her own soul. Admittedly she did not like everything she saw but was unwilling to alter anything at the present. She would have to content herself with the hope that time would eventually present options that were not currently available.

After a year of training, providing her with heightened control of her empathic powers, Narcissa felt that she was ready to bind herself to the manor. The binding allowed her to take proprietorship over the charms anchored to the Ancestral Hall, which would dissolve, and revert back to the manor upon her death. This failsafe insured that the wards would always be available to a deserving Malfoy, and not lost upon a wielder's unexpected death. While this feature might have alarmed another, it served to cement Narcissa's deepest respect for the ward's creator; for her ever vigil protection of the Malfoy clan, for her son and his children to be.

No longer intimidated by the East Wing, Narcissa had redecorated with a flourish that few possessed, sparring no expense as she had a goal in mind, one that melded with that of her mentor. The transition was exquisite, no detail overlooked. Narcissa had been quite pleased with the outcome. A perfect balance had been achieved, the room radiated an ambience of power and wealth without intimidation.

Narcissa, in all her splendor hosted an abundance of parties at the estate, with all galas of any importance hosted in the Ancestral Hall. The room became a favorite place to entertain, not only for the Malfoy's but for those in power or those climbing the ladder of success. To be acknowledged by the Malfoy couple by a party thrown in their honor, was a seal of approval that brought about instant recognition, followed by financial backers.

As Narcissa and Lucius matured as a couple, their power of influence peaked, each bringing forth a strength to the union that was unrivaled and admired by wizarding socialites. And in order to maintain this position in society, Narcissa had entertained. She played the perfect hostess as a means to support her husband, furthering his tendrils of manipulation within the political arena as well as satiating her thirst to monitor and assess individuals that surrounded them.

Leeches, she placed little importance on, yet never wavered in her continued assessments of their emotional stability. Individuals that made her more wary were those who showed a thirst for power, by way of their own ambition or their complicity to follow others who wielded power and influence. Either trait could be lethal to her family.

To be presented and honored in the Malfoy Ancestral Hall was an event few wanted to miss, as they were usually the social event of the season. The room exuded the embodiment of power, and those foolish enough to think that it transcended to them were all too willing to stand in line and fawn. The cost to host these affairs bore no hardship to the Malfoy's. While Lucius basked in his continued admiration by society, it was Narcissa who benefited the most. She took careful note of all nuances the room provided her in conjunction with her Empathic abilities.

After several gatherings with promising and a few — surprising insights, Narcissa was quite pleased with the information the wards had yielded. She owed her mentor more than she thought she could ever repay. But how does one go about repaying a life debt to one who's already dead? Narcissa had spent many nights pondering this very question and had finally found a satisfactory solution. Something that would show her everlasting gratitude.

After studying many Grimoires housed in the manor's library, tomes having been acquired through the rites of marriage, Narcissa had found the perfect way to express her gratitude. And as a bonus, it was one that was steeped rich in tradition, something she was sure the matron would appreciate in both the gesture and in the action. The ritual had fallen out of favor eons ago, as it was a pledge of fealty to their war lord in the event the town was under siege. A pledge that transcended even death.

When she had first come across the description of the ritual, she had wondered what type of person would go to such lengths, other than some crazed warrior, but then, upon further reflection she had realized that she was such a person. She was not crazed nor was she a warrior, however, her thoughts and desires were not dissimilar to that of a lioness protecting her pride.

The mere idea that she had thought of herself as having qualities befitting that of a Gryffindor was not wholly abhorrent to the woman, however it was a thought that she would never voice. Never one to be mistaken as a foolish Gryffindor, she would better be described as being a forged soul of the two houses. A combination that yielded the most ferocious of both traits, a lioness with venomous fangs.

Her initial reaction in reading the ritual had been one of abhorrence but, if the spell could be modified, she could see herself casting it with little reservation. She was not the type of person who would willingly consign her individual choices to another, which is what the ritual required. She would never consider enslaving herself for another to wield. There would be only one person allowed to control her destiny, and not even death would change that.

She would not be bound like those weak individuals that took the Dark Mark. Narcissa was not interested in binding herself to a person and _their _cause, but she would consider doing something similar to that of her mentor. To help, to protect and to pass on knowledge. With some modifications to the ritual, she could consider binding herself to the manor rather than a living being.

If possible, she wanted to compliment the efforts that her mentor had accomplished and not duplicate them. This is why Narcissa wanted to do more than leave her essence in a painting that could be ignored by her descendants. If she needed to work behind the scenes, oblivious to her descendants, then that is what she would do. She had no need for grandstanding, the knowledge that she would be protecting those that mattered to her was all the reward she needed.

Reading the ritual had awakened something in Narcissa that had otherwise been dormant. What had begun as a search to express her gratitude to her mentor, had blossomed into something on a much grander scale. A door to her inner self had been cracked. A door that creaked open wider little by little as she continued on the path of personal enrichment, loving and embracing herself. And now, the door had been blown off it's hinges, never to be bolted shut again.

Narcissa's childhood had taught the young woman to be self reliant and to not wear her heart on her sleeve like an emotional Hufflepuff. But since having interacted with the elder Mrs. Malfoy, her perceptions had been changing. And growing in leaps and bounds were her maternal instincts and all that those encompassed. Perhaps she was a Hufflepuff after all, as this awakening within her was something that she did not want to close off, but she would reign in any rash outbursts and be the Slytherin that she was and carefully dole out what others saw in her actions.

She needed to find out if there was a way to modify the ritual, yielding her desired results. There could be no chances taken as there was no 'do over', as these types of spells could not be undone once cast. She would not allow any mistakes to be made, forcing her to become a haunting of the estate. Being able to do for others did not translate into Narcissa becoming a martyr. She wanted to permeate the manor with her essence, adding strength to the wards, stability to the structure and peace to it's occupants, qualities of life she had been denied as a child.

She was not about to cast her life out like a handful of die at the craps table. She needed some assurances that she was not condemning her soul to the fiery pits of hell. Narcissa knew of only one type of person that had the skills and knowledge to help her rewrite the ritual to her needs and be able to transcend the spirit realm.

The more popular stories that had circulated about Necromancers had them parading amongst inferi and raising the dead for nefarious reasons were entertaining, but were in reality as far from the truth as Snape's head of hair was from a bar of soap. Narcissa knew these stories to be fabrications and it was only through her frank discussions with her mentor that she had learned the truth about Necromancers.

_A necromancer true to their craft helps aid the dead along their chosen path. While one might ask the dead for some assistance in an occasional task of theirs, but know that they never make demands of the dead_, iswhat the elder woman had said She had further informed her that Necromancers cherished the dead as the dead provided insight and information that the living rarely could. When Narcissa had then thought about how helpful her discussions were with an animated portrait charmed to contain memories of the deceased woman, the realization of a person having access to spiritual powers was beyond her comprehension.

Unknown to the general populous, Necromancers were men and women held accountable to the highest of moral standards. The oaths binding Necromancers were considered unbreechable. To ignore or go against their sworn oath, using the dead to harm the living brought about their own destruction, so, few Necromancers wandered down this path, or lived to regret their betrayal.

Even though Necromancers were extremely honorable individuals, held to standards few could meet, they were still widely feared by the community. This fear had in part been fostered by their guild through the ages, to keep their members few in number. Control needed to be maintained as the temptations were great. To wield the powers of dead spirits successfully, a practitioner required not only great skill but a personal inner strength as well, to not be seduced by the power rarely seen by the living.

Their skills had never been what would have been considered fashionable, but since the rise and fall of Grindewald, followed closely by Lord Voldemort, the populous had grown more distrustful of Necromancers. The fear that one of these gifted individuals might join forces with an evil dark lord drove the governing body to pass laws, putting restrictions on the actions of all Necromancers. The laws were so strict and encompassing that to practice the craft of necromancy resulted in a life term at Azkaban.

As a result of all the restrictive obstacles, Narcissa had some difficulty tracking down a Master Necromancer. Being the resourceful witch that she was, she had not only located a Master Necromancer, but had secured his services. After thoroughly explaining her need of his services, he had elected to help her, barring all conditions other than his conferring with the guild for guidance and permission.

The challenge she had presented him, both academic and practical was not one he wanted to miss out on. The theoretical options were both mind numbing and exhilarating. He looked forward to working with the young woman, he could not think of any examples of a ritual fixing the spiritual essence of a person while said person was still alive, to be invoked upon their death.

Because of the use of blood and the binding of a soul the ritual would have been classified as Dark Magic, however, the purpose was anything but. The man, only known to Narcissa as Blade had tirelessly worked with her for months before he was satisfied that the new spell and ritual would produce the desired results. The difficulty in perfecting the ritual had been in configuring the arithmagic equations in addition to the precise placement of the runes.

Necromancers did not think in simplified concepts easily classified as black and white, life versus death. True, they dealt with the dead and death itself, and because of this, they had far greater respect and knowledge that the world was actually hues of grays and rarely separated into distinctive blocks of black and white. So, when Blade had finally configured a ritual for the young witch, combining both a blood as well as a soul sacrifice, the council did not reject it on the principle that it would be classified as Dark Magic, according to the Wizarding population, but rather on the grounds that one not of their teachings would be in the fold of such a ceremony.

The elders had given Blade permission to continue his academic pursuits with the young woman assuming that she, like most mortals would grow impatient from the arduous amount of time and research that was required to reconstruct the ritual for her needs. However, this decision came back to bite them, and bite them hard enough to draw the proverbial blood. The woman was steadfast in her conviction to see this project to completion; not unlike the jaws of a pit bull, she had locked on her target and was not about to release her hold.

For the results that that the young woman sought, additional branches of the arts that complimented necromancy were needed to properly balance the outcome. For this, Divination, Arithmancy, Astrology, and Runes were also consulted and their information utilized. The conclusions dictated that for the best results, the ceremony needed to be performed on the seventh anniversary of the Dark Lord's disappearance. Ironically, it was also the celebratory night of Walpurgis, when dark spirits were at their peak. A night Necromancers held in high regard.

So, seven years after the fateful night that Harry Potter was thrust into the history books, on the night of a full moon, Narcissa, with the aid of Blade and three council members gathered to perform the ritual, binding her soul for an eternal purpose. The ritual had been fully researched, the runes double and triple checked, verified by numerous masters, so why had it failed?

A second attempt was not tried as the Necromancers were certain that the results would not change. Their calculations were correct, of this they were sure, however, the young woman's soul would not bind itself. The only explanation given to the witch was that her soul had already been claimed.

* * *

Peering into the hall, Camilla silently gasped when she saw how Narcissa had transformed the room for Draco's inheritance soiree. She couldn't remember the room looking more stunning and that was saying a lot as Narcissa had hosted many functions in the room over the years. The room had always radiated power and wealth, but today, Camilla felt that the room also radiated warmth, love and pride. Camilla had often times felt the room had a life's essence about it, enhancing subtle nuances, shifting with the ebb and flow of the party. And if her impressions were anything to gage the evening by, tonight's affair would be remembered for a long time.

The western wall boasted windows that spanned from the floor to the ceiling, offering an unimpeded view of Naracissa's prize winning rose garden. The window panes had been charmed to filter the light cast from the setting sun to enhance the room's decor, bathing the room in soft golden tones. Narcissa had worked tirelessly perfecting the specific tint she wanted to filter throughout the room. Narcissa had to be specific about the exact shade as Draco had inherited her skin tone. If the lighting was too brassy, their coloring took on an unhealthy, sickly color and Narcissa would not have people questioning her son's inheritance party mired with dire thoughts behind its timing. This night was to honor and celebrate Draco's legal inheritance. Narcissa wanted socialites to know that she and her husband felt honored to have sired Draco and this emotion would be presented in every nuance.

As if in a show of approval, the heirloom tapestries hanging on the northern wall wiggled in pleasure from the radiated warmth and color the lighting played on their woolen weavings. Between two of the largest tapestries hung portraits that many Malfoy ancestors gathered in as a showing of solidarity for their heir. Below the family portraits was a fireplace flanked by a cozy sitting area made inviting by the rich colors in the Persian rug.

Opposite this wall, was a long table bearing delectable treats for guests to nibble on. Floating trays would deliver beverages of choice to guests during the evening, eliminating the distraction for people to gather around a refreshment bar. Narcissa had a golden rule she never wavered from when entertaining, which was not allowing escape routes for people to gather around a watering trough like a herd of cattle in place of mingling and forging contacts. Barn animals were not on her invitation list, hence guests were expected to not act like one.

Looking around the room with a critical eye assessing even the minute details that would most likely go unnoticed by the guests, Narcissa was finally satisfied. The final touches had been the lighting that doubled as a mood enhancer.

Needing no formal acknowledgement from the mistress of the manor, Camilla boldly entered the room with a large approving smile radiating from her face. Having heard the clicking of a woman's heels on the flooring behind her, Narcissa turned to greet her guest. Upon seeing her long time friend, she smiled warmly in her direction, finished giving instructions to the house elves, and dismissed them before walking over to properly greet Camilla.

Narcissa had a soft spot for her friend, Camilla. They had been friends before their children, Draco and Pansy, were born. It was through a connection Lucius had had with Camilla's late husband, Sinclair, that Narcissa had become acquainted with and protective of the younger woman.

"Narcissa, you have absolutely outdone yourself," began the beaming compliment from her long time friend. "I don't know how you manage it but somehow you outshine yourself at each function, and this one appears to be no exception." As the last of the words were flowing out of the woman's mouth, she gracefully walked up to her friend and gave her a heartfelt hug in greeting.

Upon being released, Narcissa was feeling quite pleased and perhaps a bit smug with her friend's praise. The only tell tale sign that the words had affected the woman at all was the small smile that fleetingly flitted across her face. She had taken great care in the preparations for this affair and was pleased that her efforts had not gone unnoticed.

Hooking her hand under Narcissa's elbow, Camilla gently prodded the perfectionist over to the settee, and called a house elf to bring them each a glass of wine. Camilla knew that her friend's nerves were ready to snap, wound tight as a rubber band. Camilla understood her friend as well as anyone did, and knew that Narcissa needed a distraction.

And so began the chatter, incidental items the topic of choice.

The two women were facing the wall of windows, sipping from their now half emptied goblets, looking out into the garden when Camilla broke the momentary silence, "I've always been envious of your garden, but tonight, there's something even more alluring about it. Tell me, what have you done?"

Thus began the carefully orchestrated conversation, the distraction that Narcissa was in need of to unwind before the gala. Camilla did not feel the least bit sheepish for her manipulation, as she did this to comfort her long time friend. Ordering refills, Camilla sat with a smile on her face while she listened to Narcissa expound on her garden and its most recent enhancements.

* * *

**AN** - these last two chapters were very difficult for me to write. I am striving to present a reason for readers to like dark pureblood families, or at the very least understand that they are not 'evil', rather have differing opinions and why. Our 'knowledge' of dark pureblooded families wholly comes from the lips of children who oppose their teachings without providing any real insight, therefore we have been tainted by prejuidices against them. And while you might think you understand the pureblooded stance, you don't really as character development of these individuals was ignored in the original series.

To put a stop to such ignorance, I worked hard to create a reasonable Narcissa persona, and I am quite happy with my end results. I did not want to present her as a victim of circumstance, rather a person who bided her time with a fierce determination of a 'loving' mother and wife. I put the word loving in quotes as I want the reader to realize that there are many methods that a mother can show her love, not all women are sappy fools lacking control of their emotions; which for Narcissa, could have gotten her family killed many times over.

Next chapter will deal with Lucius, and some insights as to what drives him forward. So, please don't give up on me, Harry's coming back the chapter afterwards. I'm just trying to set up plausable scenarios for the story as I hate reading fanfics where characters are so out of sync with their established persona's that I scratch my head and wonder why they bastardized a person so thoroughly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter 01

**Harry Potter and Pure Blooded Truths**

* * *

Chapter 6

**The Enemy Within **

A comfortable silence had transcended between the two women, Camilla was satisfied that her mission of distracting her friend had been successful while Narcissa had recounted her latest horticulture experiments. Idly sitting and sipping from her crystal goblet, Narcissa looked about the room again, thinking of how proud she was of her son, and that this night almost hadn't been possible.

Lost in thought, her mind traveled to one particular evening Lucius had come home, an evening before Draco had even been conceived. An evening when Lucius had revealed events that would shape and control their lives for decades. An evening when Lucius had come home extremely rattled and agitated, shaken to his very core.

Upon hearing the distinguishable _'crack' _of an apparation, indicating that her husband had returned, Narcissa made her way to the receiving room. The first thing Narcissa had noticed was his state of dress. Always impeccably dressed, Narcissa's breath caught in her throat when she saw the condition of his robes, not only were they muddy, ripped, one could even describe them as shredded, they were in complete tatters.

Before she had the opportunity to rush to his side and check him for injuries, she had noticed that his posture was off. Taking a moment to critically examine him visually, she noticed that his shoulders were uncharacteristically slumped forward, but there was more, to Narcissa, his entire countenance radiated defeat. An air that she had never observed in her husband before, putting her on edge.

As alarming as his physical appearance had been to the young woman, it was not until he had raised his head, their eyes momentarily locking that she feared closing the gap between them would be unwise. Intellectually she knew that the man in front of her was her husband, otherwise he would not have been able to enter the manor. The wards were keyed to a person's blood, not even a polyjuiced imposter could breech them. But her nerves were not soothed by this knowledge, as something was definitely wrong with her husband.

She knew that the man standing in front of her was her Lucius, but something had changed him. When their eyes had momentarily locked, the empty look in his eyes had screamed at her. Her empathic powers were on overdrive, flooding her senses, rendering her an emotional cripple. Struggling to reign in her empathic powers, she had been left with a feeling of foreboding. The best explanation her brain was able to process at the moment was that he had experienced such defeat that it was as if his essence of self had been sucked out of his physical body. He came home a shell of the man that had left earlier that evening.

The empty look in his eyes was rapidly replaced by one of a haunting. His eyes took on a wild, feral look to them. She could see that Lucius was also consumed by a case of extreme paranoia. He kept his eyes averted, jerking his head to and fro, looking, searching the premises for what ever put the fear into him.

Upon seeing and sensing his extreme distress, Narcissa steeled herself, shelving her own fears and took her first step toward her husband, in a bid to offer him some comfort. He had responded to her actions by backing away like a frightened animal. Within moments he had backed himself into a wall, his retreat, impeded. Filled with a sudden desperate urge to escape, he turned to leave, nearly tripping over his own feet. He hurried down the hallway to his study, and upon entering it he locked and warded the door, preventing access of any kind.

Not bothering with a glass, he snatched a full bottle of fire whiskey from one of the shelves, slumped into a leather chair facing the fireplace and drank the evening away. And there he stayed, undisturbed for two days. On the morning of the third day, he exited the room, and walked directly to his personal chambers unimpeded.

After he had changed his clothing, showered and shaved, he sought out his wife, to find her in the parlor. Narcissa could see the tell tale signs that he was still emotionally shaken but was ready to talk, provided that she proceed with calculated caution. Quietly nodding her head in an unspoken gesture to be attentive to his needs, she closed the book she had in her lap and patted the seat next to herself on the settee as an invitation for him to sit next to her.

Narcissa did not need to engage her empathic senses to know that he was still unsettled. His breathing was erratic and audible which was most unusual for her generally unflappable husband. Before he was able to gather enough courage to speak, he tried to leave, but her steady hand on his arm prevented and coaxed him to stay, wordlessly conveying to him that she would wait for him to steady himself. And so they both sat, she silently encouraged him with her unyielding calming presence while he wrestled internally, desperately wanting to bound out the door and down a bit of liquid backbone.

After a few minutes of silence, he felt composed enough to begin his story. A story that once revealed would change their lives forever. A tale that was not only horrific in the retelling of the physical toll but one also filled with far reaching consequences. _Forever bound, forever bound_ his thoughts swirled in his head.

Thus was his story, not one of intrigue or of conquering heroes, rather one that revealed horrifying ramifications. Forever gone were the days of the naive aristocrats, seeking to bask in the reunification of the Wizarding World. Their childish ideals had been irrecoverable ripped away from them, replaced by the cold hard facts of life. A life that he had to come to terms with as the alternative was — death.

Hindsight is often described as being twenty-twenty in vision, as it's so much easier to 'see' things when 'looking back' on an event. Lucius now knew, that his friend Sinclair had been right all along regarding the Dark Lord. He could no longer offer up feeble excuses explaining away the Dark Lord's personality shift. The once charismatic Dark Lord, the person that had rallied the support from numerous families of pureblood pedigree had changed, and in Lucius' opinion it was not a change for the better.

Lucius' awakening did not dampen his personal beliefs, those that brought him to serve the Dark Lord, those were still rigidly cast in mortar. Lucius firmly believed that the continued infusion of mudbloods into their society diluted not only their heritage but the magical gene pool as well. Wizards were of a race superior to that of muggles, and their continued propagation and proliferation needed to be protected. Being so few in number, many members of the wizarding world took extreme measures to protect their family line, an ideal that he had embraced his entire life.

Wizards had successfully hidden themselves from muggles for generations, and the prevailing attitude among many of his brethren was that this practice should not be changed because the alternative could lead to their demise. The fear that muggles could and would exterminate them was a fear that was based on history. The facts clearly show that muggles are and always have been a barbaric race; constant wars, persecution and attempts of genocide have fueled a fear of exposure to muggles within wizarding households that have not diminished with time.

But now Lucius found himself in a quagmire, his master had become no better than those he thought to despise. The ordered raping and pillaging of these lowly creatures was not on the ticket that Lucius had originally bought into. Unfortunately, at the time he took on the Dark Mark, he hadn't noticed the fine print, or the fact that his tattoo was a one way, non-refundable admission ticket to his exclusive club.

Even though Voldemort's actions were no longer wholly embraced by Lucius, the alternative, Albus Dumbledore and all he represented was an unthinkable option. While Dumbledore did not actively exterminate Wizarding folk, his policies which included embracing mudbloods into their world was akin to the wizarding world ingesting a slow acting poison. Neither alternative, the Dark Lord nor the champion of the Light, Albus Dumbledore were desirable options to Lucius anymore. But being relegated between the two, he would continue to serve alongside individuals who also had deep roots in the wizarding world and wanted to preserve and cherish it.

While sequestered in his study, Lucius had methodically thought about his options and the direction each would take him. Having formulated a tentative plan of action, he now needed to meet with Narcissa, to explain things and to bring her into the fold. As much as he admired her beauty, it was her brains that Lucius had come to admire the most. Her insight had always proven to be advantageous, and in this, they needed to be unified in their efforts as their chosen path would affect their lives from this day forth.

There was no doubt that the Dark Lord was ruthless and willing to sacrifice those who stood in his way, but he had made a tactical error the evening he had killed Lucius' friend Sinclair. In his derived pleasure in taunting those less powerful, Voldemort had exposed himself, an error unbefitting a Slytherin. He had revealed his hand before all the players had bellied up to the bar, and in doing so, he had unknowingly endangered his position, for those willing to wait for their time to strike.

Lucius now knew with certainty, that all the rhetoric of pureblood supremacy he spouted was nothing more than a ploy by a mad man to gather strong followers to his side, followers that he would then enslave. And this realization left a very sour taste in Lucius' mouth. The bile might not have risen to and departed from his mouth in an undignified manner, however, the distaste of what had been done was more than Lucius could swallow.

Once he started telling Narcissa what had transpired, Lucius did not initially elaborate on what had enraged the Dark Lord, nor were the specifics necessary as the underlying message from the Dark Lord was to impart his subordinates with knowledge. Information that had been willfully kept from them. What ever message Voldemort had thought he had imparted on his followers was most likely not the one that Lucius had gleaned.

The message that Lucius had been reeling with was that they had been hoodwinked. The Dark Lord had spouted all the proper words and phrases embracing pureblood supremacist ideals, however, his actions had betrayed otherwise. In his bid for domination, he had ignored the cardinal rule that ruthless, amoral leaders never reveal their true intent. In truth, he cared for nothing, and for nobody other than himself.

The Dark Lord wasted little time for the assembled to discover that they had been summoned for the sole purpose to watch one of their own being tortured and maimed for hours. His tortured screams were not heard by the audience, as the Dark Lord had banished his tongue, even casting a silencing spell for insurance. His screams could not be heard, but the agony he suffered was not lost by any in attendance.

Lucius knew Sinclair had been having second thoughts about following the Dark Lord, as they had talked. Watching his long time friend's body contort from the numerous hexes and curses flung at him was very difficult for Lucius to bear witness to. The retention of his outward composure could only be attributed to his father's thorough teachings. One must always retain options, and the only sure fire way to do so was to never reveal your hand, or in this case his emotions.

At the down stroke of each curse he cast, Voldemort ranted that this was what one could look forward to, should they dare ask to be released from service. That upon their acceptance of the Dark Mark, they were his forever. His to discard or disabuse as the whim dictated.

It wasn't until the spittle spouting enraged Dark Lord had let slip the whole purpose of the Dark Mark and its ramifications that the chamber grew eerily quiet. Lucius as well as the other inner circle members in attendance had just found out that it was more than just a decorative tattoo inflicting pain when the Dark Lord called. That night, they had all learned that the Dark Mark had a multipurpose function. It served to summon, to identify as well as acted as an anchor for a proprietor's bond.

It was the latter, the proprietor bond that came as a complete surprise to Lucius. For all it's insidious appearance, marring the majority of one's left forearm, it was in actuality a mark of ownership. Lucius' lip curled in disgust when this information came to light.

A proprietor's bond enslaved one magical being to another. This type of forced enslavement was never meant to be branded on a witch or wizard, as such a claim was considered uncivilized. However, proprietor bonds were considered perfectly acceptable within some social circles of the more aged members of society as a claim of ownership, when used on magical creatures.

For more generations than Lucius was aware of, the practice of branded bondage had been abolished and outlawed. The abolishment of the practice had come about due to its over usage, particularly on Veela. The Veela allure had intoxicated wizards since the beginning of time, so enticing, wizards nearly hunted them into extinction. This was the real reason behind the law forbidding the usage of the proprietor bond, not because the Veela had been regarded as equals to wizards, rather to prevent their extinction. Wizards wanted assurances that they would not completely disappear as their sexual proclivity was unsurpassed.

With laws enacted to protect the Veela from hunt or forced into bondage, wizards that were determined to obtain Veela pets, turned to the underground. Captured Veela were caged, drugged into submission and sold to the highest bidder. At the time of purchase the owner was given instructions on how to perform the proprietor bond. If a refund was to be honored, the bond had to be successfully cast before leaving the auction hall, with the castor engaging in sexual pleasures as an assurance that the bond had taken.

Veela who had performed coition with their soul mate prior to capture were immune to the proprietor's bond. Separation or forced coupling with another could not counter a mated soul bond, rendering the Veela in the eyes of the purchaser, worthless. Unable to bring about a successful sale, these Veela were left to rot in cages, release never an option.

While the proprietor bond had been created to control Veela, for the sexually depraved, it had been found to have a milder effect when cast on wizards. Wizards did not become sexually appealing and complicit, however they were more open to suggestions made by the bonded's master. They were placed under a permanent but mild and undetectable compulsion, willing to forego personal interests for that of their master's.

Voldemort felt no compunction to test the compatibility of the bond with each of his branded followers. The likelihood that any of his followers was mated with their soul partner rendering the proprietor bond useless was slim. With nearly all pureblood marriages negotiated arrangements, fostering family connections and not the result of the hormonal inclinations of youth, the likelihood that a soul bond match had been made was extremely unlikely.

Lucius' marriage to Narcissa had been such an arrangement, uniting two prestigious families that shared a proclivity of the Dark Arts. Unlike most arranged marriages, their marriage did not become one of convenience, with little love shared between the two. Unknown to everybody but suspected by one, Lucius and Narcissa had beat the odds and shared a soul bond.

Lucius had had sexual relations with Narcissa prior to their marriage and his taking the Dark Mark. It was this very act, the sexual machinations of an exuberant youth that ultimately saved him from a lifetime of slavery. The first time soul mates come into physical contact with one another, their magic reacts, initiating the long process for the successful completion of a soul bond. Unlike a bond that can be cast by a witch or wizard, a soul bond is not instantaneous nor does it reach completion until both parties share a deep emotional attachment to one another.

Incomplete as it was, the soul bond had protected Lucius from the worst of the proprietor bond. While he had felt his master's influence and the strong compulsion to obey, he had not felt mindlessly compelled to do so, nor was he aware that others did, before that fateful night.

It is often said that ignorance is bliss and this could not be further from the truth for all that had been revealed to Lucius that evening.

During the two days that he had barricaded himself in his study, he had poured over all the reference material in his library regarding the proprietor bond as well as taking time to reflect on his life. Lucius had reluctantly concluded that they, the upper tiers of society were nothing more than sheep. In addition, they had all willingly allowed themselves to be herded around by an angry, irrational blood thirsty wolf, in exchange for a few cheap platitudes. And as if this realization wasn't bad enough, even more disturbing was the fact that in the five years that he had pledged his fealty, this was the first time he had actually examined his master's goals without his personal wants clouding his vision.

Lucius had many questions, and with the questions came doubts. If the Dark Lord had only been interested in cleansing the wizarding world of inferior beings then why was he so eager to take pleasure in punishing, even killing his followers? Examining his memories further, he saw that the reasons behind the punishments had little to no justification; he had concluded that the Dark Lord simply reveled in inflicting pain and engendering fear.

Rather than finding answers, more questions formulated, building off one another in random order. Why had his father endorsed this mad man before his untimely death? Had the Dark Mark always born such a curse or was this proprietor bond a new addition, an insurance mechanism to ensure that his followers remained complacent to his will?

It took several hours relaying all that he had learned about the Dark Lord, the Dark Mark, and of Sinclair's brutal murder to Narcissa. And it would be several days while they conferred with one another, discussing all their options before they came up with a tentative plan of action. A plan that would keep them as safe as possible and ensure their continued existence.

Even after they had come up with a tentative plan of action, they continued to spent a great deal of time researching. In particular, they poured over all available information in print regarding proprietor bonds. It was not until they happened across a diary of sorts written by the Dark Wizard Alfonse DeLark that they had gleaned the true horrors of the proprietor bond when it was used on a witch or wizard.

DeLark had experimented exclusively on lesser witches and wizards in his employ in the late twelve hundreds. His reported findings claimed that the proprietor bond went deeper than what had been first thought of as a mild compulsion bond, that in fact it bound the magical core of witches and wizards to the castor. Furthermore, he reported that any and all attempts to remove the bond by a person other than the bond's initiator resulted in the death of the bonded, with their magical essence being transferred to the bond initiator.

When Lucius had first read the passage, he took in a sharp hissing mouthful of air before slowly releasing it. He read it again to make sure he fully understood the implications before he pushed the small leather bound journal towards his wife, his finger tapping the passage he wanted her to read. Setting her own book aside, she pulled the journal to herself and began to read. After reading and rereading the page, she closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer to give her strength enough to lend support to her husband.

Not only had the Dark Lord demanded absolute compliance from his followers, he had made it possible to steal their magical cores and mesh it with his own if and when he desired. While purebloods were not strangers to the lure of power, they did have scruples enough to not rob another witch or wizard of their essence. Their very lives were dependent on magic and to steal it from another, be they friend or foe went against a code of conduct that had been observed since the beginning of time.

To have their souls torn asunder without forewarning was not what these proud wizards and witches had envisioned when they had pledged their allegiance to the Dark Lord. They had wanted to embrace their magical heritage without fear of reprisal. They wanted to shed the taint that followed Dark Wizards and their beliefs, and the traditions they held dear. They had felt oppressed, living under harsh governmental restrictions and lunged at the first Dark Wizard who had promised them freedom, freedom to openly practice and embrace their heritage.

While outwardly quiet and in control of herself, Narcissa was incensed and outraged that somebody would dare enslave purebloods, those who professed allegiance to the Dark Arts and the Dark Lord as their savior. And rather than calming down with the passage of time she became more angry that somebody who had professed to uphold the age old wizarding traditions would enslave his own followers did not sit well with the woman. She was a witch, a proud progeny of the Most Ancient House of Black and she was slave to nobody. No man would rule her or make her cower against her will. Somehow, they would find a way to break the shackles that held Lucius.

Narcissa felt an overwhelming need to embrace her husband, to reassure him that all would work out, but one look at his face told her that things would never be all right, their lives had been irrecoverably altered. While being wholly disgusted by the man's tactics, Narcissa objectively understood why he had employed such methods. Understanding and quite possibly admiring the tactical genius did not endear her towards the man, especially considering her loved ones were at risk.

Having an understanding of the type of followers he attracted, Voldemort had taken measures to ensure that once marked, they would forever remain his, desertion never a viable option. After his little demonstration, Voldemort knew that he had successfully and permanently cowed his strongest and most skilled followers. Voldemort felt quite confident that few if any would ever defy him, knowing the consequences of such an act.

The recipient of an embrace became a dementor-like being with one major exception, they felt the same horrors as those of their victims. A true dementor had no conscience, therefore suffered no ill effects from their actions, however, a created dementor, retained their soul, albeit caged, forcing them to suffer the same horrors their victims felt.

Relaying to his wife that his best friend had become an abomination, sentenced to wander the earth for eternity was one of the more difficult tasks Lucius could ever remember having done; not only because of the terror it welled up in him but also the total defeatist acceptance regarding his own destiny.

Sinclair had become an abomination. He was neither dementor nor human. Lucius didn't want to suffer the same fate as his friend, and he would do what ever he had to do to prevent such an outcome. He would not vocalize any dissention he might feel. He would find a way to survive intact.

Without hesitation Narcissa had agreed with her husband to take Camilla under their wings who was in her earliest months of pregnancy with Pansy. Collectively they had decided to never tell her what her husband had become.

* * *

With the invitations activating at preset times and identifications verified at the gazebo, guests began arriving at the manor without incident. Preset arrival times effectively eliminated traffic jams, an all too common, annoying and potentially embarrassing occurrence at other functions. Staggered arrival times also served to keep diplomats with opposing views separated as well as those who were less than discrete about their adulterous affairs, all orchestrated to ensure that invited guests would be relaxed when they entered the manor.

Unknown to all, Narcissa's meticulous planning, providing for an arrival of cocooned bliss, was not for their benefit, rather hers. With guests arriving sans fear of reprisals or confrontations, and then further plied with liquid refreshments during their carriage ride to the manor, guests unknowingly lowered their defensive guards. And with mental shields relaxed, Narcissa's empathic probing was less invasive, rendering an undetectable scan by even the most adept occlumens.

With Lucius at her side, Narcissa had greeted the initial sprinkling of arriving guests in the formal foyer. With a kiss to his cheek, followed by a few brief last minute instructions, Narcissa left the arduous task of 'meet and greet' to her husband while she made her way to the Ancestral Hall.

Before entering the Hall, Narcissa stopped and called for one of the house elves that she had entrusted to oversee to the needs of her guests. While polite but firm, Narcissa had recounted a few last minute orders to the house-elf, her parting words were punctuated with, "... and make sure that you keep those drink trays stocked and circulating."

Striding down the hallway towards her destination, Narcissa stopped and stood just inside the threshold, discretely surveying the room. Taking note of those already in attendance, she was not surprised to see the small pockets of people that had gravitated towards one another. Noting that they were all conversing and exhibiting body language that indicated that they were at ease and enjoying themselves, Narcissa internally uncoiled a bit. One last brush of her gown gave the woman the time needed to mentally prepare herself for the evening's events and the onslaught of emotions she was sure to be impacted with once she entered the room.

Spotting Carlton who was ignoring all those around him in favor of staring out a window at her flower garden, Narcissa began to cross the room. When she was waylaid in route, she discretely instructed a house-elf to deliver a glass of chardonnay to him along with the message that she would join him shortly.

Having been intercepted by the French Ambassador and his buxom wife, Narcissa played the gracious hostess while she received accolades from the plump woman for hosting such an uplifting gala during such troubled times. A few exchanged pleasantries later, Narcissa was able to redirect their interests by introducing them to Mr. and Mrs. Mackelfey.

The two couples immediately took to one another after Narcissa made mention that the Mackelfey's were the founders of the Turget Foundation, an organization which boasted political clout in the more elusive eastern regions of Europe. Always looking to further alliances, the French Ambassador quickly took the bait and began in earnest to discuss topics they were all politically active in, forgetting all about their hostess.

Having rid herself of the two couples, Narcissa once again began walking toward Carlton, who, had been watching her maneuverings with a knowing smile on his face. The two had met one another several years earlier at a horticultural exhibit and since that time have always gravitated towards one another, often times sharing their newest antidotes and discoveries on the plants that held their current interests.

Running into no more obstacles in her path, Narcissa had finally reached her intended destination. Assuming that they were being observed by many pairs of eyes and ears, she voiced a generic greeting, "Good evening, Carlton," which she quickly followed up with a quick peck on his cheek. She then graced him with a small genuine smile before she continued her public acknowledgement, "I'm so glad that you were able to attend this evening. You honor both my son and my family with your presence."

Feeling no rush to further blurt out meaningless dialogue, the two looked at one another in comfortable silence before a house-elf appeared, offering his mistress a glass of wine. Picking up the glass, Narcissa took a small sip as the elf 'popped' away, seeing to the needs of the many guests roaming about the room.

"Always more than happy to attend any affair that you are hosting my dear. Knowing that you will be present assures me that I'll have at least one person to whom I can chat with beyond the usual mindless drivel that plagues such austere social events." Partaking a sip from his own glass, Carlton gave a slight but theatrical sigh before continuing in hushed tones, "I say this in earnest as the topics of conversation rarely diverge from the latest marital scandal to which witch should be shamed to be seen in public in such a garish outfit when you are not nearby."

Wrinkling his brow slightly as if suffering from a bout of gastric discomfort, he finished the topic off with, "How people can prattle on about Mrs. so-and-so parading around in a plum colored outfit when _everybody_ knows that the color of the season is eggplant."

With a wave of his right hand in the air, he continued, "I can see the scandalous headlines now. _Mrs. Peacock was dressed to distress._"

As much mockery as he was making of the society editor's choice of newsworthy articles, they both knew that an article very similar to the one he just described would be featured in tomorrow's paper.

With a smirk of approval on his lips, and said just a tad bit loud for all the eavesdroppers to hear properly, Carlton made a low whistling sound and said, "How scandalously daring for you to hotly contest the color of choice and adorn yourself in periwinkle. Which I might add is absolutely ravishing on you amongst a flotilla of floating eggplants."

Bowing to the young woman, Carlton lowered his voice so that he could not be overheard. "How I admire your ability to buck the system without these ninnies catching on."

They both shared a small knowing smile, as words were not needed to expound on both their abhorrence for those born of wealth, allowing foolish perceived rules based on whims of the moment to dictate their speech, behavior and appearance rather than being their own person. All too often those of the elite rankings in society accomplished little on their own, rather they lived off the accomplishments of their ancestors, with little desire or ambition to be known for their own accomplishments.

The party was well underway with Narcissa circulating the room as a proper hostess, chatting with various individuals, when she overheard a disturbing conversation. She had just heard Connor Avery bluntly ask Lucius when he was bringing Draco in to be marked. Momentarily, Narcissa saw red. To ask such a thing while in the middle of a crowded room was inexcusable. Even in private, such a conversation should only occur after silencing and warding charms had been cast.

Taking extra care to ensure that her party mask was firmly in place, she headed towards the two men. With practiced ease, Narcissa was able to soundlessly approach the two men. Tapping Lucius' forearm gently to garner his attention, he paused in his conversation and looked down to find his wife at his side.

"Please excuse my interruption." Taking her eyes off of Connor, she looked pointedly into her husband's, "Lucius, dear please remind the quartet that they are to begin the medley that we requested precisely at 9pm, as immediately following, we will publicly acknowledge Draco's legal status of being the successor to the Malfoy line."

Providing a reason for possible eavesdroppers to lose interest in the group, she pitched her voice with a slight laugh, "With as flighty as the group's leader appears to be, I'm afraid they will forget to keep track of the time and foul up the procession."

A moment of silence befell the trio, not one of discomfort, rather one of silent signals parlayed between the married couple.

Concluding her silent yet very precise conversation with her husband, Narcissa voiced, "In your stead, darling," shifting her eyes from her husband towards the other man in their grouping, "I promise to take care of Mr. Avery in your absence."

Having seen that certain gleam in his wife's eye, Lucius was more than willing to play along with her and do her bidding. Leaning over and giving his wife a swift but endearing kiss on her cheek, Lucius excused himself from the two and headed off in the direction of the quartet.

Narcissa was watching her husband walk away when she spoke, "Earlier this evening, I had noticed a certain young woman eyeing you quite a bit." Having now turned her attention towards the man gracing her presence, "and it looked to me as if she was not in the least bit disinterested in what she saw."

Providing Avery with an incentive to lean into her, she lowered her voice and in hushed tones but loud enough to make sure he heard her above the room noise, Narcissa continued, "so, I propose we go over and I introduce the two of you."

A few steps were placed one in front of the other before Narcissa broke the silence that had descended upon the two. "I will admit that I do not personally know the young woman, other than the fact that she came with Rosalie Portens. And as I've known Rosalie for quite a few years, I feel confident that this young woman comes from an agreeable background."

Before Avery had time to wrap his brain around the fact that he did not know who Rosalie Portens was, they were standing in front of a beautiful young witch dressed in teal robes.

Playing the perfect hostess, Narcissa proceeded to introduce the two, "Connor Avery, I would like to introduce you to Emaline Fitzhurd. Emaline my dear, this is Connor Avery."

After the two had formally presented themselves to one another, the introduction ritual finishing after Avery brushed his lips over her knuckles, they then looked at their hostess for some direction.

Reaching over and placing her hand on the small of the younger witch's back, Narcissa guided the three of them towards the archway. "I really do apologize my dear, but I simply couldn't contain myself and I let it slip to Mr. Avery here that you had been glancing in his direction most of the evening. And well, his being an eligible wizard, he was more than eager to be introduced."

Showing no offence at her hostess' presumption, the young woman beamed a smile that simply radiated at the wizard standing in front of her.

Being the consummate hostess, Narcissa had the two engaged in a conversation that eventually excluded her. Making polite excuses to attend to other guests, Narcissa left the two. As she was departing, she overheard Emaline suggest that they share a stroll through the gardens.

A small knowing smile graced Lucius' lips as he neared the band, not in anticipation of having a small chat with the leader, rather at what his wife was wrangling. Before he had had any time to respond to Avery's inquiry, his wife had spontaneously appeared at his side. Her impeccable timing always assured that their social affairs were never riddled with scandal, or any that became public knowledge afterwards.

The most noteworthy news article after one of their galas are more along the lines of a fashion faux pas on one of the attending guests, never anything more scandalous than that. Of course his financial influence as well as his public support of the owners of the most prominent periodicals took care of any up-start reporter looking to sensationalize or over dramatize any misstep at any of their affairs. Reporters looking to retain their positions knew better than to embarrass the Malfoy's.

A short while after Narcissa saw Emaline and Connor heading towards the gardens, Narcissa found herself being whisked away to the dance floor by her husband. She was most grateful as not only was Lucius a divine dancer, she loved the way he held her in his arms as he positioned them around the ballroom floor. At times like this, she was able to forget her duties and enjoy the moment.

Holding his wife firmly to his torso as he made a quick pivot turn, he spoke to her in hushed tones. "I don't see Avery in the room at the moment. I hope that I don't have to send out a search party to keep suspicion away from our other associates."

At one party, several years earlier, the whereabouts of another partygoer was not found until three days later, in an Amsterdam brothel. McNair had no recollection of his time at the brothel but by the evidence of the numerous love bites as well as other sexual marks on his body, he simply assumed he had over indulged.

"Why darling, are you worried about another of your little friend's promiscuous ways?"

Turn, slide, slide, hop, step, the conversation flowed as effortlessly as their steps on the dance floor. "Why no my dear. What those men do on their own time is of no concern of mine, however, might I remind you that we have a leader who disallows for excursions without permission."

While Avery made a personal offence towards his wife's sensitivities by mentioning their master at one of her functions, Lucius had no desire to subject himself to a round of _Crucio's_ while the Dark Lord ranted and raved about someone missing from the ranks.

"I'm sure that things will work out for the best, dear," was all the woman was willing to further comment on the now presumably missing Connor Avery. If Lucius could not control his associates then she and her team of hired professionals would. Loose lips were not something to take lightly, especially in these troubled times.

Sitting outside in the flower garden underneath a snapping golden briar vine, Edward Hollingsworth saw his partner, Emaline Fitzhurd enter the garden, with a wizard in tow. Pointing out the blooming phlox bush was the prearranged code confirmation that this person was to be oblivated and removed from the premises. And without hesitation, Emaline had walked her oblivious target right up to the plant and began unleashing her womanly charms on the man, keeping him distracted while Edward shot a silent stunning spell at him.

As soon as Avery was rendered unconscious, Emaline cast a notice me not charm on him and walked away, rejoining the party. Emaline stationed herself near the garden entrance to deflect or postpone any new entrants into the area while Edward took care of the body. Planting and activating a portkey on the body along with instructions for Hermes, who's job was to retrieve and redirect 'packages' sent his way. With his task easily completed, Edwards returned to the bench underneath the thorny vine.

While some might think that Hermes got the least challenging of the assignments, relegated to the background, never to be seen, he did not care nor agree with this claim. In fact, he quite enjoyed his part in the operations. While the others had to feign niceties and interact with the rich and famous, he got to decide where to deposit the targets. And in keeping within the contract boundaries of the customer, he still managed to redirect the offending person to some rather unique places, making his job enjoyable as well as challenging.

True to his word as well as stubborn pride, Draco had held up well during the evening's festivities. While appearing to negotiate effortlessly with the many proposals thrust at him by various dignitaries, Draco began to feel drained as the evening neared 10pm. He was ever so grateful for that pepper-up potion he had had earlier, however those benefits had run their course, and now he was looking longingly for a place to discretely disappear to for a while.

Spotting Pansy near the portrait gallery, Draco decided to seek her company and assistance as a buffer in a bid for a bit of relaxation. Given a choice, he would have preferred to have headed to his bedroom to crawl underneath his comforter until morning, but this was not a viable option. The party was being given in his honor and he'd have to stay until the last guest left.

Before Draco had reached Pansy's side, she had spotted him in route. Noticing that his coloring was a bit off, she immediately decided to shield him from the vultures disguised as business associates for the next hour. Draco had barely joined Pansy and a few of their classmates who were with her when, she hooked her arm under his and began to steer him towards the more obscure east garden.

Speaking in an air of authority, Pansy stated to the group, "I think a spot of fresh air would do all of us some good." Nobody bothered or cared to question her. When Draco uttered not one word of protest from being 'manhandled' by his friend, Pansy knew that her decision to depart was the right one.

Narcissa watched her son being led by Pansy Parkinson, away from the confines of the Ancestral Hall. While Draco's posture was picture perfect to the casual observer, Narcissa did not miss the tenseness in his shoulders or his too erect spine. To the ever watchful mother, her son's body radiated exhaustion, as evidenced by his stiffness. Having foreseen this possibility, Narcissa had instructed Pansy to escort Draco away from the foray if he looked like he could benefit from a small reprieve. As she watched the two leave the room she was grateful that Pansy had taken their little chat to heart.

While not as visually appealing as the main garden, the east garden offered what it didn't, a more relaxed atmosphere. Discretely scanning the area, she noticed no other occupants in the garden, so she steered him further into the oasis, towards a grouping of furniture.

Motioning for Draco to sit beside her on the chaise, she coaxed him to lay his head in her lap while she soothingly brushed the wisps of hair off of his forehead.

Draco could tell that his long time friend was worried about him as she was acting a bit out of character with all the coddling. Wanting to put her mind at ease, he drolly supplied, "Pansy, I'm fine, really. The medi-wizard thinks that I'm experiencing nothing more than a magical maturation so, it's reasonable that I'd feel a bit drained. Besides, I already have one mother, I don't need you fretting about acting like I have two."

While some physical discomfort did occur to a person during their magical maturity, it was generally mild enough to not warrant a medi-wizard's intervention. And the minor irritants, or inconveniences that often times accompanied a maturation process, cleared up without intervention after a few weeks.

Changes associated with a magical maturation were primarily restricted to a person's magical core. The witch or wizard's magical core settled into a permanent configuration once the body was deemed magically mature. The settling of the magical core did not provide an expansion or addition of new abilities that often accompanied a magical inheritance episode, rather it offered the magical essence of the person to become more stable. And once the magical core became stable, episodes of wild magic, a term used for episodic magical outbursts in children ceased.

Unlike the rarity of a magical inheritance, everybody experienced magical maturation. And unlike a person who experienced a magical inheritance, physical changes were not noteworthy from a magical maturation.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter 01

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**Harry Potter and Pure Blooded Truths**

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**Contact **

Chapter 7

In a good mood after spending the afternoon reading a few chapters in the birthday gift that Fred and George had sent, "_Come-Up-Ons, or How to Cheek Your Enemy,_" Harry slipped out of his Aunt and Uncle's house to get some fresh air. It had been a while since he had had the book in his hands, yet he was still chuckling at some of the things he had read.

The thought of using some of those lines on the dreaded potion master brought forth more than just a small smile to his face. He knew that he would never be able to actually confront his professor and use any of those lines, but just picturing the look on his face if he did was enough of a reward to satisfy Harry's need for entertainment.

Harry was definitely in a good mood, made even better because this was his 16th birthday. He just felt special today.

As these thoughts occupied Harry's mind, he absent mindedly took the shortcut between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk. It was empty and much darker than the streets it linked because there were no streetlamps. As soon as Harry realized he had accidentally ended up in the area where he first saw his godfather in dog form, he let out a big sigh and hung his head. If only Sirius hadn't died a few weeks ago, he'd be spending the summer with his godfather instead of the Dursleys.

Mrs. Figg, out searching for her cat, Mr. Tibbles, noticed Harry as he passed by her house. His demeanor caught her attention so she continued to watch Harry as he continued to ramble down the street. She noticed that his shoulders suddenly slumped as he peered down the darkened street. _The poor dear_, she thought. _I wish_ _he could live with me but Albus insists that he's safer with those horrible relatives of his_, her thoughts continued while her facial features became tight and drawn in disapproval.

Just when Arabella was contemplating having Harry over for tea, she noticed a dramatic change in his posture. Harry was looking at something down the alley, she was sure of it. She strolled further down the sidewalk to see if she could catch a glimpse of what he was looking at and saw nothing but the dark alley. Harry continued to stand there, frozen in his tracks for several minutes with his chin jutted a bit forward, while his eyes never wavered from their point of interest.

An uncomfortable feeling started niggling at Arabella, and she grew concerned. Slowly and cautiously she crossed the street to ask Harry if he was alright. She reached out and touched his shoulder in an attempt to announce her presence as he still hadn't moved.

Without uttering a sound, Harry slowly, almost mechanically, turned his head as if to look at her but Arabella could tell he wasn't focusing on her, rather it was as if he didn't even _see_ her. Those large vacant green orbs sent an involuntary shudder through the woman. Before she could compose herself to prod him, Harry ever so quietly voiced a question that as far as she could tell wasn't directed to her, but voiced anyway.

"What is that and what does it want?"

The woman looked down the dark alley and could not see anything. She started to take a step forward but stopped in her tracks when peripherally she saw Harry tense up even more. Now, definitely alarmed that something was amiss, she started fumbling with her bracelet, desperately seeking the large ruby gem. After a few tense moments, she found the one she was looking for and immediately started pressing it in rapid succession.

While she waited for help to arrive, she stared down the dark alleyway with all her might, willing to see what had Harry's attention. Had she had even a fraction of superman's visual powers, she would have bore holes into the darkness from the sheer intensity that she was staring with. With every passing second, she became more tense, she had never known that seeing nothing could be so unnerving.

Having been apprised of the added precautions Dumbledore had taken this summer, Remus knew that the alarm sounding in headquarters had come from Arabella. Not knowing where to apparate to and not wanting to waste time scouring Little Whinging on foot, Remus, along with Shaklebolt had performed a scrying spell over a detailed map of Little Whinging and found that the distress call emanated from a public muggle roadway.

Not wanting the Ministry's involvement for breaking The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy of 1692, the two Order members disillusioned themselves before apparating from headquarters, battle ready.

_CRACK, CRACK _came the double apparation sounds, mere minutes after Arabella had released her hold on the gem encrusted bracelet.

Having grown up in a wizarding environment, Arabella was familiar with the sound of apparation, but she saw nothing. Where were the wizards that had apparated, making that tell tale sound? The sounds with lack of visual confirmation brought to the surface the fear that she had been barely able to contain up to that point.

But before she was able to scream for help, grab Harry and run, or have her brain process and formulate any plan of action, she felt a large hand grasp her forearm and heard a whispered, "Got your call, Mrs. Figg, we're from the Order."

She had immediately recognized the voice of Kingsley Shakelbolt, a gentle soul who worked for the Order. This recognition reassured the woman, slightly, but she remained quite tense as she could not see him. A seemingly reoccurring problem she had never had to deal with prior to this evening, making her feel very unsettled.

Having apparated in a crouched position with wand arm at the ready, the two men braced themselves for the possibility of incoming spells. As seasoned veterans, the two men quickly realized that the immediate area appeared deserted. Relaxing their tense muscles a bit they both stood, losing their crouched stance but not their state of alert. Quickly glancing around once more and seeing no muggles about, they cancelled their disillusionment charms, appearing to the immediate right of Mrs. Figg.

"Sorry to frighten you, but Remus and I felt it best to arrive unseen."

To the old woman's relief, the words had been accompanied with the appearance of a body. Her heart had been banging against her rib cage so loudly she was surprised that she had heard the whispered apology.

With wand still at the ready, Remus relaxed his stance a bit after he took in the sight of an unharmed Harry. Having not taken his eyes off his newly adopted godson, Remus noticed Harry's rigid frame and fixated stare, upward.

Nudging Kingsley, drawing his attention away from Mrs. Figg, Remus jerked his head towards Harry, indicating that something was up. Still ready to spring into action should the situation warrant a need, the two wizards turned their eyes in the direction that Harry appeared to be looking. That's when they both saw the ethereal being floating above the pavement, making eye contact with Harry.

As if choreographed, both wizards brought their wands up simultaneously, ready to shoot off the first spell that came to mind. Alarmed but not sensing any immediate danger, the wizards opted to monitor the being before reacting impulsively. Neither had any idea what they were looking at, other than the fact that it had a humanoid shape.

It continued to float in the same position, not making any threatening advances towards Harry.

Then, without warning, Harry began to glow. In an involuntary reaction, the two men took a step backwards, shielding their eyes from the growing brightness of the light that was emanating from Harry's body. Their eyes adjusted quickly, having not been blinded by an intense brightness, rather standing too close to a sudden source of light in a darkened area.

Critically looking at the phenomenon that was engulfing and emitting from Harry, the two wizards were momentarily struck dumb while they desperately tried to understand what was happening. The saying goes that seeing is believing but that did not mean that seeing provided explanations. Having no recourse for action, the two wizards elected to continue what they had been doing so brilliantly, standing dumbstruck.

Remus began mentally cataloguing what he was witnessing so that he could review the sequence of events later. He had noted that the initial glow surrounding Harry appeared to radiate from his very essence, radiating outward, abruptly halting about one meter from his body. For lack of a better description, Harry had turned into a human light bulb with a highly controlled area of radiance.

This phenomenon provided the visual perception that Harry was encased in a lighted orb of some sort, a bubble of light that extended to a specific distance from Harry's person, and no further. And even more striking to this bubble that roughly followed the contours of his body was that the outermost boundary of this shield appeared to be tangible. The outermost part of the bubble looked to have formed a shell of minute solid particles, or more precisely, a thin shell.

Remus had the strongest urge to reach out and tactically feel the external shell encasing his godson. It was a fear of causing harm to Harry that he did not reach out and touch the shield, rather adopted a watch and wait attitude.

Kingsley was not of the same mind, he reached out and poked the barrier with his wand. The resulting action was rather dramatic and immediate. Had the brick wall not stopped his flight backwards, Kingsley would have been thrown clear of the alleyway.

Having seen that physical contact was not in their best interests, Remus tried to attract Harry's attention by calling to him. The only acknowledgement that Harry had heard his pleas was a crook of his neck in his direction. Otherwise, Harry did not turn his head, did not take his eyes off the being hovering above him. His gaze was as transfixed on the being as it was on him.

Then, ever so slowly Harry raised his right hand, extending his palm towards the ethereal being while it incrementally floated closer to Harry, it's hand extended in the same fashion. Then, without any incantation uttered or wand in hand, Harry started to float towards the being. Not only did Harry not appear to be responsible for his sudden weightlessness, he also appeared to be unaware that he was.

When Harry's height was level to that of the being, his movement halted and he hovered in place. Words were not spoken nor did Harry lower his outstretched hand. Harry appeared to be waiting for the being to respond to his offering. And contrary to his Gryffindor personality, he seemed to be content enough to wait for the being to proceed at its pace.

Harry was unaware that he was smiling. All he knew was that he felt peaceful, complete and serene at that very moment and that he had no desire to rush things. To bask in the sensations of being lifted from all of his life's trials was a sensation that Harry had never experienced before. A feeling he was in no rush to relinquish.

In no sign of any rushed movement, the being smiled at Harry and began to close the distance between them, its hand still outstretched, mimicking Harry's.

With Kingsley still being tended to by Mrs. Figg, Remus continued to watch and absorb as much detail as was possible, knowing that he would be the one debriefing Dumbledore.

When Harry's glowing shield and the entity were centimeters apart from one another, palms lining up, Remus readied himself for the impending impact. Clenching his jaw and crouching a bit to take the bite off of any reactive force, like what Kingsley had experienced, Remus watched with as much dread as awe as the gap between the two decreased.

To Remus' astonishment, nothing happened when the being came into contact with Harry's shield. There were no sparks nor any type of physical resistance that Remus could see. The being's hand had penetrated Harry's shield with as much resistance as a heated knife slicing through a slab of butter.

And then, just as suddenly as it had all begun, the film of light surrounding Harry's body began to shrink. Remus also noticed that the glow emitting from Harry grew softer in intensity as his bubble-like shield continued to shrink. The last vestiges of any light was centered at Harry's chest cavity before it disappeared altogether, blanketing the area in darkness.

During this entire time Harry had not moved, nor seemed to notice what was transpiring around him. He just continued to stare at the being floating at eyelevel, several meters in front of him.

And then, with as much forewarning as had been provided when Harry's body initially began to glow, a light began to emanate from his chest, and only his chest. Initially, the light was nothing more than a soft glow, filtering through the fabric of Harry's over sized shirt. At a slow but steady rate, the glow grew in intensity, with some of the light escaping via the gaps between the buttons.

Wanting to be in a position to better see what was happening to his godson, Remus moved a few meters to his right, placing him at an angle from Harry with an unobstructed view. Kingsley silently mirrored his movements, leaving Mrs. Figg standing between the two.

Then, without warning, Harry's back arched as something began to emerge from his chest. The emerging substance was not comprised of solid particles, rather wispy tendrils of smoke. Adding to the already strange phenomenon was the fact that this smoky substance was not following any known laws of physics, it was not dispersing in the air, rising, falling or drifting away with the surrounding wind currents. It seemingly acted with purpose, not straying far from Harry's chest.

While it continued to grow in volume, areas of differing densities began to form. Eventually, three distinct swirling eddies within the smoke were easily identifiable. The coalescing, swirling eddies were visually distinct but were at the same time not truly separate from the larger bulbous smoky mass that was still accumulating.

As the smoky substance slowed it's rate of growth, Harry's posture became more erect. Harry made no move to wave his arms about to disperse the cloud attached to his chest, in fact, he didn't even acknowledged its existence. His attention was wholly focused on the being, hovering just out of his reach.

Slowly the mass of smoke began to move in a more uniform manner. The eddies and tides were mingling together, shaping, and swirling, taking on a form. It wasn't until Remus recognized a very familiar rack of antlers that he realized he was witnessing the emergence of Harry's patronus.

If anybody had asked, Remus would have told them that he could not have been more stunned than he was at that moment. For a wizard to be able to produce a patronus was a rarity, but for one to produce a corporeal patronus without an incantation was unheard of. In fact, Remus would have told anybody that it wasn't possible, but yet, he was bearing witness.

Kingsley had started to take a step forward to intervene but Remus motioned for him to stay put. The taller man looked at Remus, wide eyed, wanting an explanation for his actions, or rather inaction. Not wanting to take the time to even blink in case he missed something, Remus simply responded in a husky whisper, "Let's just watch for now," leaving the we'll talk afterwards unsaid.

It did not take much time for Harry's patronus to emerge, fully developed. Unlike when summoned via an incantation, the patronus remained passive, not striking out, acting as an offensive defender.

Harry's patronus approached the being in a slow, majestic gait, it's head held high and proud, halting just out of reach. In a display common in the wild, the stag began to turn it's head from side to side, showing off his impressive rack. Once he felt that he had effectively impressed his target, he then moved his head up and down in rapid sequence, followed by a few quick snorts.

In complete shock, Remus stumbled a couple of steps backwards. His entire body radiated his shock as his wand arm lowered, hanging almost limply, his hand barely retaining possession of his wand.

Remus had never heard of a patronus making any sort of sound. It was impossible. They were not real beings or animals. Unlike transfigured items that were solid, having mass, patroni were conjured feelings, magical apparitions that were comprised from a castor's positive emotions. They were not even tactically solid. So, how could a concentration of magical feelings make sounds?

While in his state of shock, Remus was able to continue watching the magical entities interact, however his brain was no longer processing or analyzing. Those few soft sounds had effectively removed him from being a possible active participant, ready to respond, to that of a member of an audience, visually cataloguing without interaction.

What he was witnessing was not possible but then, rules of fact rarely applied to Harry.

Prongs Jr. slowly began to approach the ethereal being. In harmonious response, the being began to slowly raise an arm, not stopping until it was fully extended. As the two met, nose to palm, Prongs whinnied and then snorted. The noises seemed to please the humanoid, as a smile radiated from it in reaction.

Having finally regained some of his faculties, Remus was once again stunned stupid. The fact that both apparitions were making noises and responding accordingly to said noises suggested that they were more likely extensions of the witch or wizard they hailed from. Remus further speculated that in order for a magical manifestation to possess an awareness, it would have to possess a portion of the castor's soul. In essence, they were extensions of the person's being and not just a concentration of magic. With so few able to cast a corporal patronus, Remus wondered how many were magically gifted enough to cast a projection of themselves within their patronus as Harry had done.

At this realization, Remus gracelessly plopped down onto the pavement in a heap, his legs having become jelly-like. Remus had always prided himself on being a scholar, and after having witnessed such an event and piecing together the significance, he was completely dumbfounded. If the conclusions he had just drawn were correct, then, a lot of magical theories widely believed were in fact, false.

While Remus sat in his puddle of muddle, mind whirling but not really thinking or connecting any more, the two beings continued their contact.

The tentative touches came to an abrupt end when the bipedal being suddenly withdrew his arm and doubled over, as if in pain. Without pause, Prongs lowered his head and nuzzled his nose in the nape of the being's neck. The gentle nuzzling lead to his nipping a shoulder until the being tilted his head up, just enough for Prongs to tenderly lick a tear as it trickled down a cheek.

The witnesses were alarmed that the being was suffering with two having taken a sympathetic step forward in response while the third was brought out of his stupor, clambering to his feet. Any further forward movement from the three ended when the crouched being began to moan and rock back and forth in obvious distress. Not knowing what assistance they could offer a magical apparition, they remained frozen in place and watched with saddened hearts.

Then, an anguished cry rented the air. The cry lasted mere seconds but it seemed to have lasted a lot longer for those present. The being was panting from pain but within moments, the breathing evened out, giving hope to the witnesses that the pain had receded.

And then, they saw them, beautiful wings had emerged from the being's back.

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The newly appointed professors, Catori and Hehewuti had been out exploring the grounds, reacquainting themselves with the ambient magical signature that was uniquely Hogwarts. Having been around the castle for a few days, they had already attuned themselves with the feel of the magical signature of the castle and the grounds, but something felt -- different.

Something had felt slightly off when they had first begun their stroll, but not enough to alarm the two. The subtle difference was like a small itch that had been easy to initially ignore or not notice, but with time, its nagging persistence had grown, making it impossible to dismiss as nothing. And it was this itch, this persistent tingle in the ambient magical atmosphere that initiated a desire for exploration from the two.

In an attempt to better discern the cause of this electrified atmosphere, they paused, closed their eyes as one and raised their heads skyward. Then in synchronous movement, they raised their arms skyward, fingers fully splayed, while they opened their senses. They stood in silence for several minutes assessing the changes, trying to understand what was happening and the cause for the disturbance within the magical atmosphere.

They did not become alarmed when they were unable to discern the cause or source for the disturbance. The reason for their continued calm could be attributable to the feelings that they were able to associate within the chaos of the charged magical particles. They could feel what could be described as happiness, or more accurately, some form of euphoric anticipation.

This did not provide them with any answers, nor did the lack of such raise the hackles on the backs of their necks as they felt no ominous presence associated with the charged particles. And therefore they accepted the feelings at face value. Their consensus was that intervention was not warranted.

During the time that Catori and Hehewuti were outside, basking in the electrical charge of the atmosphere, one Albus Dumbledore could be found pacing in his office. Being a powerful wizard, Albus Dumbledore had _some_ awareness of all things magical. And it was this awareness that provided the old wizard with the _feeling_ that something was amiss.

Unlike the two outside, Albus Dumbledore was not aware that differing properties of magical particles existed. And it was this ignorance that led to his unease as he had no control or knowledge what was happening. In large part, Dumbledore's concern was heightened because of the current climate within the wizarding world. With the return of Voldemort, a new source could sway the odds towards those seeking to destroy witches and wizards deemed inferior to the anointed few.

Taking a break from his pacing, he was looking out his window when he noticed that Hehewuti and Catori were outside -- and sparks were flashing around them. Clasping his hands behind his back, Dumbledore continued to watch the two. They didn't appear to be concerned by the small magical display, so Albus relaxed a bit, and decided to question them about it the next time he saw them.

The pleasant distraction was enough to calm the old wizard. Feeling a bit uplifted, he returned to his desk and the ever present stack of paperwork waiting for his perusal.

* * *

The addition of the wings on the back of the being had the three observers thinking that they were witnessing some sort of divine intervention. Throughout history such winged creatures had been depicted as angels, yet there had nary been a reported sighting for the last century. The lack of reported sightings coupled with time led to stories of such sightings as myths, folk lore. A common theme found in these folk tales was that at times of great need, angels would descend upon the earth and lead the righteous back to salvation.

During this time of awe inspired worship by the three, ten dementors had shown up. The three humans had yet to realize that they had company. Even the chill in the air had gone by unnoticed until they heard the dementors chattering. The not so unpleasant screeching of the dementors had broken the spell of awe they had all been caught up in.

Being an auror, Shaklebolt had been sent on several missions in the previous weeks to disperse dementors that had been found wandering the countryside. Even with his increased exposure to the creatures, he had never known of them to articulate sound.

Going with his gut instinct, he motioned to Remus to hold off casting a patronus. Ordinarily this would be considered a foolish move, to allow yourself to be surrounded by dementors without taking evasive action, but his instincts were telling him to wait it out. He just knew that this was not the time to act rashly.

An opportunity had presented itself to them to gather more intelligence on their congregating practices. And he wanted to see what they were up to and if they dispersed too early, they might never find out. Also, with two wizards present who were capable of casting a patronus, there was no need to act rashly, letting fear control their actions. In theory, these points were all good and well, however, he hoped to Merlin that he would not regret his decision as his confidence level waivered as he saw that their numbers continued to increase.

As additional dementors arrived, they quietly joined their comrades in the circle forming around the magical apparitions. Atypical to their normal behavioral patterns, they did not rush the beings in search of their sweet nectar, an untainted soul. Instead, they kept a respectful distance, as if they were waiting for something.

The dementors had been ignoring the humans, yet, this did not negate any effect they had on them. The color was draining fast from Arabella's face, yet she refused to move, not wanting to draw attention to herself. Only stern determination kept the woman in an upright position.

Considering the number of dementors surrounding them, Kingsley was surprised that he barely felt their presence. Ordinarily he would have been on the ground clutching for his Ministry issued packet of chocolate with the number of dementors surrounding him, but here he was, standing and still in control of his mental faculties.

Chancing a glance at his companions, he saw that Remus looked unaffected as well, but Arabella did not appear to be as lucky. Pulling out a couple packets of chocolate from his breast pocket, he unwrapped the corner of one and passed it to her. Via silent communication, he was able to convey to her to eat some chocolate and to pass the other packet over to Remus. Even though he and Remus seemed to be fine, it would be foolish to not take _some_ precautionary measures.

The therapeutic effects of the chocolate was instantaneous, bringing color back to her pallid face and a stop to the accumulation of cold sweat that had begun beading on her brow. Having recovered to a more tolerable level, the woman resumed her vigil, hoping that the two men would protect her from the creatures, should the need arise.

While the three humans were unobtrusively eating their chocolates, the dementors continued to ignore their presence. There was a fourth human present, Harry Potter, yet the dementors ignored his physical body as well. It appeared that the dementors were in as much awe of the magical manifestations as the humans were. Their focus never wavered. Their presence seemingly singular in purpose.

The mesmerizing trance was broken for all those gathered when Harry's patronus began to close the gap between itself and the angelic being. This movement brought an end to the lull in activity enjoyed by the two wizards. With the trance having been broken, the two wizards were once again mentally bracing themselves for swift and decisive action.

With minimal detectable movements, the two wizards wand wrists flexed, readying themselves to dispatch a burst of spells while they procured Arabella and Harry for side-along apparation, should the circumstances warrant. Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, the two wizards had elected to not rush any encounter with the dementors but they still closed the gap between themselves and Harry's physical body and Arabella.

While Remus and Kingsley were bettering their positions, the dementors had begun to reorient themselves as well. Shifting their positions so that they were more equal distant from one another in their ill-formed circle, then they began to sway in synchronous movement. Their movements were much more subtle than the choreographed movements of spectators in a sporting event, however, they were moving in what could only be described as a choreographed swaying pattern.

Remus could only think that the dementors were reacting to something that he, humans could not detect. It was disconcerting to the young man that the dementors had a higher level of awareness to his adopted god son's emotional condition than he had. Bringing his attention back to ground level, Remus took a long look at the boy. The messy hair, the too big clothes, and the glasses were as much his trademark look as those sparkling green orbs.

All looked to be in order, other than the blank look on his face. Harry did not look like he was all there and this was a worry to the man. It was the scholar in Remus that kept his feet firmly planted rather than whisking Harry to safety. Remus was more concerned about the repercussions in distancing Harry from his patronus than he was with the dementors surrounding them.

Remus had surmised that Harry's magical projection, his patronus, had taken more of Harry's essence than usual, hence the blank look and lack of physical reaction by his body to his current surroundings.

Dealing with so many unknowns, Remus was concerned that separating the two would adversely affect Harry and this was a risk he wanted to avoid, if at all possible.

Had Harry been any other person, Remus would be more alarmed however, the mundane, the norm was not one of Harry's quirks. The boy had always been plagued by the unusual. One could even say it was a gift, or a curse, depending on who was retelling one of his latest adventures.

As puzzling as the dementor's behavior was, they were at least a more known commodity than the phenomena that was physically and magically affecting Harry.

Remus' eyes were brought back upwards when they caught more movement. Harry's patronus had begun to nuzzle his head in the being's chest while two arms circled the stag's neck. This reverent touching continued uninterrupted for several minutes.

Then the being leaned over and whispered softly into Prongs' ear before pulling away. Before the two had put any distance between themselves, the angel had planted a chaste kiss on the stag's nose. This seemingly innocent contact set in motion a chain reaction that would ultimately alter the lives of several individuals.

As the two separated from one another, the stag began melting. Neither apparition appeared to be surprised nor disturbed by this action. Upon closer inspection Remus realized that the stag was not melting, that the magic was not dissolving, rather it was morphing, shifting into a smaller version. The entire process took less than a minute, and the end result was staggering.

In place of a full grown stag, stood a foal, a young unicorn. Not only was it unusual for a person to have a magical patronus, one well known exception was Albus Dumbledore who's patronus was a phoenix, but this unicorn was further unique in that it possessed color. The colors were not shocking in of themselves, just the fact that there were any was what was shocking.

Once Remus' brain had engaged, he started to ponder all that he thought he knew. Foremost in his thoughts were why patroni were colorless. Spells could be traced and identified by color as well as magical signatures. To name just a few, stunners as well as disarming spells were various hues of red, while the Avada Kedavra was a brilliant jet of green light. These tell tale facts suggested that channeled magic had a designated physical as well as visual signature, so, why did patroni not follow the pattern?

Any and all patroni that Remus had ever seen prior to this evening had been monochromatic in appearance. Their make up was known to be from highly charged positive emotions, yet, color from an individual's essence had never been observed in one. And if one thought about this, it was odd that a patronus was void of color as a person's essence, their emotionally charged particles should expose their underlying personality, their aura, regardless how much positive energy they funneled into the spell.

Adding to the mystery, Remus further contemplated that Harry's unicorn was not uniform in color, like a spell is. No, his unicorn had what could be more closely termed as markings. The mane and tail were pitch black in color which sharply contrasted to the smoky white of its body. And when it turned its head and looked at Remus, it had a pair of green eyes that he had only seen two other individuals ever possess. And then there was the horn, the unique protrusion that jutted out of a unicorn's forehead, it was a liquid quicksilver and not the expected bone-like substance.

The more Remus thought about it, he was no longer sure if he was looking at a patronus, or something magically altered into something altogether new. A hybrid of some type. Had the unicorn had a facsimile of a lightning bold scar on its head and markings around his eyes where Harry's glasses adorned his face, Remus might have thought Harry had followed in his father's footsteps and become an unregistered animagus.

But then again, animagi were thought to never replicate a magical being. But this was Harry, and accepted facts and theories all too often flew out the window when he was involved. Now was not the time to reason why but to watch and learn all that he could. Reining in his wild theories, Remus went back to quietly observing and marveling all that was Harry.

In short order it became apparent that the young unicorn was not as surefooted as his predecessor had been. He walked about a bit unsteady, reminiscent of how Mundungus got around after his shift ended. His drunken-like antics brought about smiles on the faces of the three human watchers. If it was possible, the smiles would have grown wider when the young foal began prancing about like some ponce strutting his stuff after he gained some confidence and balance on all fours.

After his little exhibition, the unicorn stopped a nose whisker away from the angelic being. Reaching out slowly, the winged angel sought to touch the unicorn's horn. At the slightest contact, a soft glow appeared at the tip of the horn. The glow was not indiscriminate, it was concentrated, forming a small globe.

The light radiating from the sphere was softly pulsating, a methodical rhythm not too dissimilar to that of a soothing heart beat. The orb continued to grow and pulsate until it reached the size of a quaffle. Once it had reached its maximum size, the light shifted from a soft golden color to an ocean blue.

So mesmerized by the globe, Remus had not noticed that the angelic being had moved a few paces from the unicorn. Their separation only became apparent to Remus when the globe started to float away from the unicorn towards the open hands of the angel.

Reverently holding the globe between two palms, the being then raised its arms high over head. This is when the chattering of the dementors came to an abrupt halt. Remus would later wonder if they were chanting and not simply chattering as they too seemed to be as absorbed in what was happening as he was.

Remus didn't spend much time in his pondering of the dementors chanting as the silence was a precursor to an abrupt change in the globe, and this change kept his attention focused on the globe. No longer was it giving off a soft glow, points of light began to emit from it. The points of light were aimed towards the chest of each dementor. The foul guards of azkaban did not falter at the oncoming light. In fact, they seemed to welcome its presence, jutting their chest cavities towards it for contact.

As the light came into contact with each dementor, their ragged capes fell to the ground, dementor-less. In place of each dementor was a smaller globe of light that had distinct eddies of a smokie-like substance within it's perimeter. The eddies seemed to swirl and coalesce further into two main colors, one being dark while the other was nearly white in color.

The globes representing each dementor were various sizes, containing both light and dark smoke. Intriguing to Remus he noticed that the two colors did not intermingle with one another, providing a uniform color, rather they appeared to have segregated themselves from one another. The longer he looked, Remus thought that two colors of smoke gave the appearance that they could almost be classified as entities shunning one another.

And furthering his theories, if this were the case, then, like Harry's patronus and the ethereal being, these smoky substances might possess an emotional imprint from their originator, the kissed souls.

Lost in thought, Remus was not sure how much he missed when the sound of Kingsley's throat clearing brought him back to reality. When the fact that his attention was being requested had registered in his brain, Remus sprang back to the present with his reflexes on high alert. The notion that they might be in danger due to his reckless abandonment of his senses to contemplate magical theories was quite a jolt to his system. He sternly reminded himself that being inquisitive was fine but not when in potential mortal peril, and being surrounded by a gaggle of dementors definitely qualified as being in mortal peril.

As soon as Remus had brought his attention back to the present, he had scanned the area and saw that all those present were still hail, healthy and hearty. Having wasted no time, he then looked overhead, to observe what had transpired during his mental absence. The control he had over his oxygen intake ended when he saw what it was that Kingsley had brought about his attention for.

The globes left behind by each dementor had started to pop, similar to that of a soap bubble. Emerging from the bubble were two distinct spheres, one containing the white smoke and the other containing the dark. The white spheres appeared to be consistent in composition while the darker globes provided a variety of hues and eddies, that ranged from a light gray to nearly black.

In short order, the white spheres too began to pop, the smoky contents floating skyward. While Remus was watching the tendrils of the white substance float heavenward, he suddenly realized that the darker globes were not following suit. Scanning the area, he saw a grouping of the darker globes. Watching them more closely, it appeared to Remus that they were coalescing, gathering in a tightened area as if they were being gathered by an invisible net.

Darting his eyes to the side, he noticed that the magical apparitions did not appear to show any concern that the dark globes were stationing themselves about twenty meters from them. As the orbs continued to gather, Remus noticed that a distinct shape was forming. To further produce the desired shape, the spheres were adjusting in size and shape, some becoming oblong, to form an isosceles triangle. The smallest and lightest colored globes positioned themselves at the peak while the larger, darker foreboding looking globes lay the foundation for the base.

Reaching a hand to its back, the angelic being brought forth a bow and arrow. Placing a shaft in position, the being then took aim and shot the arrow directly towards the dark triangular spheres. When the arrow was nearing it's intended target, it split itself into seven smaller versions of itself, each driving forth, impacting seven spheres. This action was repeated two more times.

Upon impact, the tiny arrows of pure magic did not burst the spheres, scattering their contents, rather they gained access, imbedding themselves into the dark clouds. As each globe was penetrated, a classic battle of light versus dark began within the encasings. Unaware of the significance to what they were witnessing, the three observers on the ground watched the battles by way of violent flashes of light taking place within each sphere.

It had not dawned on the three that the conflict within the orbs was for the possession, purification of stolen, captured souls.

While the Ministry freely used dementors as tools to punish criminals, they were also unknowingly creating greater monsters of destruction. Daily exposure to dementors raped the mind of positive influences, memories, eventually making it nearly impossible for an individual to have any positive thoughts at all. Prolonged exposure to this type of mental onslaught provided the individual a one way ticket to the incurably insane wing of the prison. And this, in the minds of Ministry officials was justifiable punishment, with the added advantage that the prisoners became more malleable, more manageable for the human guards, requiring less intervention, having lost their minds they made no demands.

However, there is generally a Catch22 to anything that seems to be -- too perfect. The effects of dementors on the human psyche was well known by the wizarding populace, however, what was not known was that this effect was not singular nor was it exclusive. Along with the loss of their minds, their souls became more tainted. With their minds lost in the abyss, their souls became forever frozen with the last remaining images they had relived, hardening them for eternity. Souls that might have been salvaged at one point were now, shattered beyond repair.

After a human was subjected to 'the kiss', their physical body deteriorated, closely followed by death. For these rare judicial mandates, the Ministry took full advantage of the positive publicity for removing a dangerous criminal from possible further activity. The criminal's death brought about the end of Ministry involvement, leaving grieving families to their own coping mechanisms.

Once the death certificate was issued, the individual no longer existed, therefore he could pose no danger, according to the Ministry. If this were true, it would be nice, however, nice and tidy endings when dementors were involved was far from the truth. For the real truth was that dementors kept each soul they reaped in stasis, living and feeding off their magical energies.

And it was the quality as well as the quantity of souls the dementor possessed that gave it strength as well as it's animalistic drive. The greater number of souls consumed gave rise to a stronger, more powerful dementor. The greater number of irreparably damaged souls within it's confines gave rise to a more aggressive dementor. Combining the two could be potentially lethal.

Had officials known about this correlation, it is doubtful they would have been so eager to sentence individuals to such a fate.

The true significance of the battles raging within the spheres might have been remiss to the witnesses, however they were aware that dominance was being fought by the continued flashes of light as some globes were slowly growing lighter in color.

While the soul lacked a brain, making it incapable of cognitive reasoning, it did possess an imprint of emotions left over from its host. Not all emotions were present, only those of the most basic level, such as fear and anger while emotions based on higher levels of awareness such as love, were absent. Self preservation was also a key component of awareness that had been retained by the soul.

As should be expected, souls came in as many varieties as hosts. A person's life experiences produced the type and intensity of emotions that were imprinted on the soul, some more indelible than others. At the far end of the spectrum, but not uncommon to be housed in a dementor's bowels, were souls of criminals. The more heinous an individual's actions in life, the more aggressive and assertive the soul became. This aggression coupled with the basic need for independence and self preservation, essentially guaranteed that they would be incompatible with others, especially in tight quarters.

As archeology has provided an abundance of examples, a pecking order is established when humans live in close quarters. The hierarchy in tribal communes did not solely revolve around the hunters, as the gatherers were viewed as an important component in their social structure, lesser in stature but nonetheless, important.

However, within the confines of a dementor, the hierarchy was wholly dependent on strength as there was no need for human comfort or nurturing. The bodiless souls sought dominance over one another, hence the more brutal forces were the ones occupying the top rung.

Such was the life of the dementor. Warring factions not even of their own making taking place within themselves for eons.

Had a being of the Earth been given this task, to house a host of angry spirits at constant odds, they would not have survived, most likely taking their life as a means to end their misery and personal torment. In spite of this internal struggle, dementors survived and functioned because they were not beings in the normal sense of the word. They were vessels who's purpose was to provide housing for malevolent energies until the transference of the magical energy could be recycled back into the universe, completing the cycle of life.

Dementors interrupted the transference of negative magical energy from recycling back into the living. They were a safeguard, a stopgap created to slow the influx of negative energies, to maintain a universal balance of power.

Dementors were never meant to be a fine mesh filter, simply an effective crude sieve, skimming the top. Dementors were merely a safeguard, an overflow valve and nothing more as a world inhabited by humans would never reach utopia regardless the number of deterrents and safeguards put in place. There would always be humans that took from the weak. While cruel at times, this disparity of roles and abilities was a positive for the human race as it forced individuals to better themselves, to reach beyond.

Dementors were a storage vessel, given the task to hold their cargo for the destined one. The one who shouldered the duty, and had both the ability and responsibility to return these negative energies back into the magical pool of life.

The magical essence that they had been tasting in the air had been growing in strength, sending them all around Western Europe searching for the source. They had felt the lure for months, their anticipation and desperate desire to locate the one calling had partially unmasked them to the wizarding world. To finally be freed of their burdens as well as to be welcomed and not shunned or feared by the one overrode their usual stoic behavior. Unfortunately, every time they sensed the magic, Ministry employees would show up and scatter them by projecting patroni at them, contaminating the surrounding area for further study.

After all the searching, they had finally found the returner. Even though not yet at full strength, the ambience of its magical aura was intoxicating and soothing to those starved, those deprived of the simple emotion known as love. The saying that love soothes the savage beast was no exaggeration as the dementors swayed and swooned, bathed in the ambience of such purity.

To be able to bask in the presence of one so pure instead of the stench of the foul had been nothing more than a dream to them for so very long. A fantasy that was about to turn into reality. The time had arrived for their destinies to collide.

Nearly two dozen dementors were set to challenge the magical fortitude of the young, untrained returner. They posed no real threat to the returner, yet as the first wave, they were to test him for endurance as well as magical purity. Once the returner passes the first challenge, then it would be their brethren's duty to prepare and mold the youngling for his role.

Having released their compressed spheres of tainted souls, the young apprentice pulled forth his purification arrows and set about to embrace his destiny. As tainted as many of the souls were, their compliance and acceptance would not come without absolute defeat on their part. The battle for preservation versus purification would be fierce and would drain the youngling of his barely awakened powers. And after the battle, the youngling would need to once again pull from within its essence to release the protectors of balance from their Earthly bonds.

One by one, the gaseous substance in each of the globes began to lighten, eventually shedding all of their darkness, turning white. As each globe reached this critical stage of purification, the globe provided no further resistance, and then it simply popped. The contents that were released separated into several small tendrils and began their skyward ascent.

As the last globe popped, expelling its contents, Remus' peripheral vision caught some movement, bringing his attention back to the two magical apparitions. The two mystical beings had begun to close the gap between one another, not stopping until the being's hands were cupped around the horn unique to unicorns.

With hands gently grasping the horn's circumference, the being then leaned forward and blew across its tip. The stream of cold breath exhaled from the angelic being changed in appearance as it grazed the tip of the horn. Morphing from that of a frosty breath common to a cold January morning to tiny crystalline particles, golden in color.

The stream of golden sparkles began gathering around a small mass of purple glitter, the actual remains of the dementors. The golden glitter began to circle the purple which in turn began to swirl in an elliptical pattern. The two colors joined one another in their dance, the layering effect gave the appearance of a colorful cinnamon bun. When all the particles were in play, a bell could be heard softly tolling in the background.

As the last chime sounded, the particles began unraveling, and began a sinuous ascent into the sky, with the exception of a teaspoon grouping of the purple glitter. Unnoticed by the human observers, the small amount of purple particles turned in a north-easterly direction and headed off on its own.

Deciding that their mission had been successfully completed, the two magical apparitions looked at one another and began to fade, until they too were no longer visible.

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**AN:** Writing is aneffortlessskill to many thathas always eluded me, hence the long wait from my last update. Unfortunately the length of time between my submittals will not dramatically increase anytime soon as I have recently scrapped a lot of partially written sections as I now feel that they do not add substance to the story, just fillers. I apologize to those of you who have expressed a keen interest in this story to continue at a faster pace but I honestly struggle to produce something worthy of posting and don't want to lower the quality that I have been able to painstakenly achieve. Here's hoping that my skill will some dayimprove, allowing me to produceadditional chaptersat a faster pace. In the mean time, I hope you enjoy this chapter.


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